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WARP AND WOOF. 


( T)it 


ANNA HANSON DORSEY, 


A.UTHOROF “COAINA,” “F1.FMMINGS,” “TaNGI^FD PaTHS,” 

“May Brooke,” etc., etc., etc.’ 



FIFTH THOUSAND. 


JOHN MURPHY COMPANY, 


BALTIMORE, MD. : 


NEW YORK: 


W 


Copyright, 1887, 

By anna HANSON DORSEY. 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 



< < 


< < 


% Transfer -• 

Cl Public Library 

2 2 1938 



WITHDRAWN 

1.79403 


Warp and Wook. 


Life is the warp; time is the shuttle; our own deeds 
the woof which we weave day by day into a web of grotesque 
designs and strange patterns of light and shade, symbols of 
sins, sorrows, joys, and mayhap repentance. 


CHAPTER I. 

A LEAF FROM A JOURNAt. 

New Orleans, Feb. 20tb, i 8 — . 

I HAD just returned from Europe, after an ab- 
sence of four years, and was persuaded by my 
friend Raoul de Coucy, who had accidentally be- j 
come my fellow-traveller in Norway, to go '^ith 
him to New Orleans, a city I had never visited. 
It was his birthplace and home, had been the 
birthplace and home of his family for genera- 
tions, and it was not strange that he should 
vaunt himself on its age, its history, traditions 
and prosperity. But after a few days I grew res- 
tive with longings for home and the faces I loved. 

I told him I should leave the following day. 

“Oh, come now. Max, none of that! ” he ex- 
claimed, starting up from the chair he was loung- 
ing on, and standing before me; his handsome, 

3 


4 


WARP AND WOOF. 


lazy-looking eyes flasliing into sudden bright- 
ness; “you have not been here quite a week; you^ 
have seen nothing; you are not even rested, and 
the smell of the sea is not yet shaken from your 
clothes. Remember, old fellow, this is the land 
of romance and history, and not to be slighted 
even after a classical tour abroad. We have our 
traditions, our legends, our ruins, which you 
must hear and see. We go back, you know, to 
the days when the hildagos of Spain and the 
chivalry of France fought against each other on 
the soil of Louisiana, then with the Indians, and 
the brave, arrogant English ; nor do we forget 
the rout of Pakenham and his Hessians, or the 
cotton-bale ramparts, from behind which Jack- 
son and his wild Americans sent death and de- 
struction among them. Ahem! I am patriotic, 
’•you ;see.- B.ut*best of all, we have our Mardi- 
wMch. .'beats the Roman Carnival into 
nothing for actual fun. Eet your traps alone, 
there’s a good fellow, and don’t forget that we 
are expected at Madame de Vigny’s soiree this 
evening, where you’ll meet the most exclusive 
of our French society.” 

Raoul was on his high horse, and I did not in- 
terrupt him ; but by the time he stopped to draw 
breath, I had made up my mind to remain until 
after Mardi-gras^ which I was really curious to 
see. I told him how I had decided, and after he 
had embraced and thanked me in his warm, 
southern fashion, I relocked my trunks; then we 


WARP AND WOOP. 


5 


lit oui cigars, and strolled down-stairs, out upon 
the bioad, flagged walk in front of the hotel, 
where a thick awning overhead made a grateful 
shade, and the plash of a fountain in the square 
near by imparted a sense of refreshment. After 
a few minutes’ chat, Raoul left me to saunter — 
nobody rushes here — down to his cotton ware- 
house, near the quays, saying he would meet me 
at Ridenour’s, a famous French restaurant, at 3 
o’clock, where we would lunch. It was my pur- 
pose to go into the reading-room to look over the 
northern papers, and devote the rest of the morn- 
ing to my correspondence, being sadly in arrears; 
but I loitered on, bewitched by the brightness 
and fragrance that filled the air. It was the 
middle of February. Possibly, at my home, 
farther north, the earth was sheeted with snow, 
but here, trees, roses and tropical flowers whose 
names I did not know', were in leaf and bloom. 
White jasmine and orange blossoms mingled 
their subtle perfume in the atmosphere, impart- 
ing a delicious languor to the senses, giving one 
an ideal of the rest and bliss of Elysium. I 
know that sounds paganish, but I will be honest 
and say that just then I felt so, and the mood 
was so delightful that I did not care to shake it 
off*. Everything amused and interested me as in 
a dream ; the negro women, arrayed in brightly- 
figured calicos, with great gold hoops in their 
ears, and bearing on their gaily-turbaned heads 
wicker baskets, or light wooden trays filled with 


6 


WARP AND WOOP. 


early vegetables, large, luscious strawberries, 
native oranges, lemons and bananas, who went 
by joking and bantering each other, in their 
Creole patois^ with bursts of infectious laughter, 
whose merry key-note dwells only in the African 
temperament; little flower-girls who tripped by, 
singing scraps of song in the dialect of the Bay- 
ous to invite attention to their gracefully-offered 
fragrant wares ; groups of beautiful girls, in sim- 
ple but exquisite toilettes, bent on shopping, 
their laughing, coquettish eyes half hidden by 
their broad-brimmed, leghorn hats, chattering 
in pure French, their voices subdued to tones of 
propriety, and each group attended by a demure 
bonne ; then, walking slowly, and apart from 
every one, appeared two beautiful quadroons, 
whose dresses were of some dark, silk tissue, 
which showed here and there a thread of gold, 
and who bore themselves with the air of eastern 
princesses. My attention was immediately ar- 
rested. I had seen them on Sunday going into 
the cathedral, as Raoul and I stood for a moment 
in the main entrance. ‘ ‘ Mother and daughter, ’ ’ 
he had whispered, as they swept gracefully into 
the broad vestibule. I could scarcely credit him, 
they looked so nearly the same age. They had 
interested me then, and their appearance now so 
stirred my attention that I observed their move- 
ments to the exclusion of all other passing ob- 
jects. Now and then they paused, looking this 
way and that, the greatest modesty and quiet 


WARP AND WOOF. 


7 


grace in every motion. I imagined they were 
expecting some one, and in a few minutes my 
conjecture was verified by the appearance of an 
old mulatto woman, very light, with large, keen 
black eyes; she wore a dark dress, a shawl of 
black twisted silk, and a gay Madras turban, 
while from her ears depended hoops of gold, 
crusted with brilliants that flashed and glittered 
at every movement. She stood a moment, shaded 
her eyes with her hand, and gazed up and down ; 
a blithe little laugh rippled out, a small, gloved 
hand was waved towards her, then she saw them, 
nodded her head, hurried to meet them, and the 
three walked away together. It was she whom 
they had been expecting. 

As they disappeared I recalled the conversation 
between Raoul and myself on the occasion of my 
first seeing them, after we left the cathedral. 

“Their name,” he said, “is Tayet, and they 
are rich. There’s an old grandmother, and the 
two you have just seen are mother and daughter. 
The daughter has just come home from some 
convent at the North, splendidly educated and 
accomplished. ’ ’ 

“That is strange. I know the prejudices so 
well that it seems impossible, ’ ’ I remarked. 

“The convent is in Montreal, where this girl, 
Cecile Tayet, was reared, and educated with the 
daughters of the best families in Canada,” he re- 
plied. 

“But did they know — ^?” 


8 


WARr AND WOOF. 


“What? about her African blood? I suspect 
not. How could they tell? She’s as fair as a 
magnolia, and without a ripple in her hair; she 
had rich clothes, plenty of spending-money ; she 
was generous, devout and amiable, a great favor- 
ite, I have heard, and bore off the honors of her 
class when she finished. Of course I don’t know 
them, and what I tell you I heard from an old 
aunt of mine, who, in turn, heard it from the 
godfather of Cecile, the parish priest.” 

‘ And what will be her future here ? ” I asked. 

Raoul shrugged his shoulders. ‘ ‘ She will as- 
sociate with her own class,” he said; “although 
rich and accomplished, and as pure as an angel, 
her African blood will prevent her rising above 
it, and her white blood from sinking beneath it. 
These quadroons have the pride of Satan. That 
girl, devout and innocent, now so closely guarded 
by her old grandmother that it would be at the 
peril of one’s life to offer her a civility, will, in 
time, weary of her associations and pine for the 
cultured and refined ones she was so many years 
accustomed to; then, probably, tempted by one 
of ‘ the superior race, ’ with promises impossible 
of fulfilment, or deceived by a false marriage, 
she will be like the rest. It is their fate, the 
unfortunates!” 

That is what Raoul had said, and, however it 
impressed me, it would have been sheer folly to 
have argued the right or wrong, the social or 
moral aspect of the problem thus presented to me 


WARP AND 'V/OOF. 


9 


by him. The fact to his unreflecting, pleasure- 
loving mind was an inevitable one, in which he 
had no individual concern whatever; he would 
have considered it lowering to himself, had he 
given the subject any serious thought; besides, 
what could he do against old, deeply-rooted 
prejudices and customs? He knew full well 
what the folly and danger of any such meddling 
would be, if he ever, in his graver moods, gave 
this outgrowth of slavery a moment’s considera- 
tion; so if misgivings came, it was only like 
Raoul to “whistle them down the wind,” as he 
did everything that threatened to trouble him in 
mind, body, or estate. 

I had dismissed the beautiful quadroons from 
my mind — for why should I, a stranger, perplex 
and sadden myself with questions in which I had 
no personal concern? But seeing them again 
so unexpectedly on this fair, lovely morning, re- 
awakened all my human sympathies for beings 
who, by an evil accident of birth, were made out- 
cast. But I shook off the feelings that moved 
my better nature. I was no moralist, and I 
frankly admit my religion sat lightly on my 
shoulders. There was too much to remember 
and regret in my own career for me to sit in judg- 
ment on a people, or do battle with their sins. 
“It is plainly God’s affair, not mine,” I thought; 
“His mill grinds slowly, but it is exceeding 
sure; and some time, when the world is dream- 
ing, the dies iree will come,” 


lO 


WARP AND WOOF. 


I was out of tune: my beautiful dream of an 
hour ago, when the simple sense of living was 
happiness enough to fill my whole being, was 
broken. I was in no mood for letter-writing, 
and, lighting a fresh cigar, I determined to ex- 
orcise the disturbed spirit that now possessed 
me, by seeking new objects of interest amongst 
the byways of the old city. Taking a course 
entirely unfamiliar, that led me away from the 
modern and fashionable quarters, I found my- 
self, after many turnings and windings, among 
a net- work of narrow streets, reeking with moist 
filth and ill odors, and crowded with all the 
varied movement and confusion of commercial 
traffic. I was jostled by negro laborers with 
heavy sacks upon their shoulders, and nearly 
run over by drays and trucks, which, with the 
distracting uproar on every side, gave me a 
strong impulse to get away as speedily as possi- 
ble to a more quiet thoroughfare. In my efforts 
to accomplish this, I sank over my shoe-tops in 
the black ooze of the street, and my white flan- 
nel suit, and even my face, were spattered as I 
navigated myself, dodging for life among the 
horses and wheels, across to a certain opening, 
which appeared to promise what I was in quest 
of. I stopped to take breath and wipe the mud 
from my face, then I looked about me. I saw 
that I was on the corner of a wider and less 
crowded street than the one I had just escaped 
from, and after walking a short distance, my at- 


WARP AND WOOF. 


II 


tentioii was attracted by an object wbicb at once 
awakened a strange interest. It was an old 
mansion, completely bidden by trees, except a 
tower which rose above them ; it was surrounded 
by a wall of solid masonry, over ten feet high, 
and standing three or four feet above the level 
of the street, was, as may be supposed, singularly 
conspicuous. This portion of the city, it was 
evident, had originally been built on more ele- 
vated ground, until its growth and prosperity 
demanding more room, the soil surrounding the 
old edifice had been ruthlessly cut away to grade 
the streets to a more convenient level for traffic, 
leaving only enough about it to save the founda- 
tion of the walls, which were so high and thick 
as to leave me in doubt that they had been built 
more for purposes of defence than to mark the 
boundaries of the gardens they enclosed. I was 
possessed of a strange desire to get beyond those 
walls. But how should I find entrance ? There 
was no gateway on this side, and I turned into a 
narrow lane on the left, but it was the same, a 
massive blank wall ; then I followed its northern 
length, with the like result; but on the east side, 
about midway, I saw a short flight of rough 
board steps, leaning against the embankment in 
front of a great iron-studded double door, which 
was set deep in the masonry of the wall and 
framed in massive stone. In a few moments 1 
had scrambled up the rickety steps, and was tak- 
ing a nearer viw of the grim entrance, which 


12 


WARP AND WOOF. 


reminded me of the portals of some of the old 
mediaeval prison fortresses I had seen abroad ; but 
there was no bell-pull — there was apparently no 
method by which the keeper of the place could 
be summoned to a parley; had there been, I 
should have had the audacity to seek admission. 
I had been so engaged in my investigation of 
what was within reach, that I did not at first ob- 
serve a heavy stone tablet, just above the key- 
stone of the arch over the door; there was an 
inscription cut upon it, the letters lined by a 
growth of fine, dark moss which made them very 
legible. It simply read: 

DOM PEDRO DEE AEAYA, 

1647. 

Above the name of Dom Pedro del Alaya was 
carved his coat-of-arms, lined with fine, dark 
moss, also its crown, and other heraldic devices 
quite distinct. ‘ ‘A person of great consequence, 
doubtless, this Dom Pedro, ’ ’ thought I ; “ but why 
he should have crossed the seas to make a home 
in the wilderness, who may know? for that stone, 
like the sphynx, is dumb.” 

But as noon approached the heat became op- 
pressive, the soft south wind from the Gulf had 
died away, and I turned reluctantly from the old 
house, determined to know more of it, and with 
a strong presentiment that I should do so. As I 
walked slcwly away, turning once or twice to 
take another look and impress its locality upon 


WARP AND WOOF. 


13 


tny mind, I observed some two or three old 
houses — spacious, substantial structures, now 
mouldy with time and defaced by uses for which 
they had not been designed — wedged in between 
great, dingy warehouses, where cotton, rice, 
sugar and other southern products were stored, 
and like them, packed from basement to roof 
with the same sort of merchandise. These 
dwellings in their prime had, doubtless, been the 
only neighbors of the Del Alaya house, and had 
exchanged civilities with it; but progress and 
money-getting had been too much for their 
grandeur — they had been sold, and their owners 
had founded other elegant homes beyond reach 
of the noise and filth and vulgar contact of traf- 
fic, which had succeeded the stately quiet of 
their old neighborhood. 

But the old Del Alaya house suffered nothing 
from the elbowings of the vulgar world that had 
driven off its friends; it was concealed, even 
from the prying eyes of curiosity, by the thick 
foliage of the great old trees that belted it in — 
all of it except the octagonal tower with a 
pointed roof that arose above their topmost 
branches on the side fronting the river. I could 
see from where I stood, that there were circular 
openings, like port-holes, just under the eaves of 
the tower roof, in and out of which a colony of 
crows fluttered and wheeled with discordant cries. 
Dive oaks, with long, waving, gray mosses hang- 
ing from their branches like ghostly banners, 


H 


WARP AND WOOF. 


grew along the walls on the inside. The “Pride 
of China, ’ ’ with its purple, fragrant flowers, and 
the tall cotton-wood, orange and lemon trees, 
made a wilderness of shade and fragrance in those 
once carefully tended grounds; while tossing 
above the walls, out in the sunshine and air, as 
if in wanton delight of escape into the outer 
world, yellow jasmine and salv atari roses flung 
their vines laden with golden blossoms and great 
pearly clusters, warding back by their perfume 
the ill odors of the neighborhood from entrance 
into the sacred enclosure. That old house, I was 
convinced, had not only its traditions, but its 
unquiet ghosts. The heat reminded me that I 
had better stop “building castles in Spain,” and 
get back to my hotel as quickly as possible, 
which I did with the aid of a cab that was passing, 
and which, by great good luck, was disengaged 
when I hailed it. It was nearly three o’clock 
when I reached my apartments; I made haste to 
change my apparel, jumped into a carriage and 
drove to Ridenour’s, where I knew Raoul de 
Coucy would be waiting for me. My mind and 
imagination were full of the old Del Alaya house, 
and I meant, as soon as we should be quietly 
seated at our lunch, to ask Raoul no end of ques- 
tions about it; what he could not tell me, he 
should find out from his old aunt or somebody 
else. But, alas! Raoul had invited two friends 
to meet me, men who were so full of the ordi- 
nary topics of the day, and the celebrated dan- 


WARP AND WOOF. 


15 


sense Celeste, whose perforiuance the eveniug 
before had thrown New Orleans into a fever of 
excitement, and about whose “poetry of mo- 
tion ’ ’ every one was raving, that I had no op- 
portunity to ask a question about the matter that 
occupied my thoughts. lyater on followed Mad- 
ame de Vigny’s soiree^ after that a card-party at 
my rooms until after the “wee sma’ hours,” 
then to bed, too sleepy and perhaps a little too 
heavy with wine, to give further thought to the 
mysterious house hidden behind its impenetrable 
walls. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


t6 


CHAPTER 11. 

CONTINUATION OF JOURNAL. 

I WAS asleep when Raoul called the next 
morning; he would not allow me to be disturbed, 
and went off to his business. When I awoke, it 
was with a clear head, and one idea, the old Del 
A lay a house. It was becoming a monomania; 
why, I could not explain. After all that I had 
seen in the Old World, with interest it is true, 
but with little emotion, why should my mind 
and imagination be excited to fever heat by a 
musty old dwelling, to which, in all probability, 
people never gave a thought, except perhaps to 
wish it were pulled down, and the ground on 
which it stood levelled — an idea that was most 
practical and suitable to the times. After break- 
fast I ordered a light, open carriage, with a pair 
of high-stepping, fast horses, and drove down to 
the quays, hoping to find Raoul at his warehouse, 
and persuade him to drive with me to Take 
Pontchartrain, intending to take the street on 
which the old house was situated on our way. 
He was there, standing in the arched stone en- 
trance of his ware-rooms, an expression of min- 
gled weariness and discontent on his countenance, 
his hands in his pockets, staring listlessly after a 


WARP AND WOOP. 


17 


fine of heavily-loaded drays moving at a snail’s 
pace toward the docks of the New York steamers. 

“Hilloa! Max,” he cried, as the horses dashed 
up over the rough stones, with no end of a 
Natter, while his whole face brightened with 
smiles, “you only want a pair of wings to con- 
vince me that you are a good angel come to 
visit me in this confounded lion’s-den of a place. 
Here, some of you fellows! run and hold the 
horses. Step down. Max — ” 

“On the contrary, I want you to step up. I 
have come to carry you off, Raoul, if you will 
come. I want to see hake Pontchartrain again, 
and am not sure of the way without you. Jump 
in. The air is just within an ace of being frosty: 
it is delicious and inspiring. The drive will do 
you good.” 

“I believe I will. I’ve got through with an 
awful lot of business this morning, sending off 
two immense consignments of cotton to New 
York, and my factor can attend to the rest; he’s 
a faithful old Scotchman, and managed every- 
thing while I was in Europe — that is, after my 
uncle’s death. Here, McDougal, I’m going on 
a short drive. I know you can spare me,” said 
Raoul, with a light-hearted laugh. 

“ Hech, sirs; the time will be your only loss,” 
said McDougal, who knew that Raoul was just 
learning the rudiments of the immense business, 
by which his uncle had amassed a splendid for« 
tune, and that he, the factor, was now the soul 


l8 WARP AND WOOF. 

of it as much as if he were master. But he was 
old, and it was the desire of his life to see the 
young fellow, who had inherited all his former 
employer’s possessions, fit himself to sustain the 
honor of the house, and carry on the business 
successfully after he should be gone. 

“Business is an awful smasher to one’s spirits. 
I wish I could get out of it, but I’m honor bound 
by the conditions of my uncle’s will,” said 
Raoul, as we drove off. Then we began to talk 
over the approaching festival of Mardi-gras^ and 
the masquerading costumes we should select. 
We had decided on nothing except that our dis- 
guise was to be so impenetrable that we should 
be able to escape all recognition. Raoul was so 
engrossed by the subject of characters and cos- 
tumes for the occasion, that he paid no attention 
to where we were going, until I turned the 
horses’ heads into the street leading to the old 
house of Dom Pedro del Alaya. 

‘ ‘ I say. Max, where in the mischief are you 
going? This is not the way to the Lake road, 
by a long shot. We’re in the old Spanish quarter. 
Give me the reins, old fellow, and let us spin out 
of these close, filthy streets!” exclaimed Raoul. 

“Presently. I want to find out something 
first. You have got to tell me all about that old 
house surrounded by walls, perched up yonder. 
Here we are. Can we get in, do you think?” 

“How did you find this place. Max, and 
when?” he inquired, with a puzzled look. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


19 


“I was prowling about yesterday and came 
across it quite by accident, and I claim the right 
of a discoverer to explore it. Tell me what you 
know of its history.” 

‘ ‘ Upon my honor, I know very little. I had 
forgotten its existence, and as to getting in there, 
it would be as easy to get to the top of Mt. Ara- 
rat. The only person who has the ‘open se- 
same’ to the old den is Monsieur Moret’s factor; 
and where he is, the witches only know, ’ ’ an- 
swered Raoul. 

‘ ‘ Who is Monsieur de Moret ? ” I asked. 

‘ ‘ The present proprietor, who lives abroad. ’ ’ 

“It is gone from the Del Alayas then?” 

“Not a bit of it; Madame de Moret was a Del 
Alaya in the direct line, and the last of them; 
she and Moret were betrothed when they were 
children by their parents, he being remotely re- 
lated to the family. She died within a year of 
her marriage, leaving a son, the present heir. 
But what’s the use of standing here in the sun? 
It will be more pleasant outside the city under 
the shade- trees ; in fact, I shall be able to remem- 
ber more when we get away from these vile 
smells, that disgust and confuse my memory.” 

“Go where you will, then, my Sybarite! I 
wish I had some attar-of-roses to sprinkle you,” 
I said, laughing, as I gave him the reins, feeling 
quite satisfied that the train was laid for me to 
find out much that I wished to know. 

“I wish ♦‘o heaven you had, Max,” he an- 


20 


WARP AND WOOF. 


swered, turning the horses’ heads, and touching 
their flanks with the whip. They broke into a 
fast trot, and we were soon out on the smooth, 
grand drive leading to Lake Pontchartrain. 
Neither of us spoke until the wheels began to 
roll noiselessly over the level beaten road; then: 

“She died, you say, leaving a son,” I began. 

“Who? Ye.s' I had forgotten. Max, you 
are as relentless as fate! Well, yes! She died 
within a year of her marriage, leaving a son, 
Leonce de Moret. I have heard that there was 
some hushed-up mystery, but no one could tell 
exactly what. There was a whispered rumor 
that there was another son, and that Madame 
de Moret had discovered something or other that 
broke her heart; and the family have lived 
abroad ever since, except when Monsieur de 
Moret comes now and again to look into his af- 
fairs. They are enormously rich, although one 
way or another a great deal of the Spanish prop- 
erty has slipped out of the hands of its successive 
owners, which is a very good thing in my 
opinion; it would have been too much for them 
had it held together — all that territory north and 
east of Louisiana, with a vast estate within the 
present boundaries of the State. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Did you ever hear what brought Dom Pedro 
del Alaya here? That old house must have 
been buiP in, or on the edge of a primeval wil- 
derness. ’ ’ 

“It was, I have neard, built just about the 


WARP AND WOOF. 


21 


time that the Spaniards and French began to 
quarrel and fight over the right of ownership to 
the territory on the west side of the Mississippij 
which both claimed, the feud lasting until the 
United States Government bought them out. 
Between them and the Indians, Dom Pedio del 
Alaya had cause to be thankful for his high 
walls and his watch-tower. The old Spanish 
records, I have heard my uncle tell, relate that he 
had large royal grants on both sides of the Mis- 
sissippi, and there’s a tradition also on record 
that he was disposed of in this royal fashion be- 
cause he was, sub rosa^ of such nearness of blood 
to his sovereign through a secret marriage of the 
Infanta’s, as to make his absence from Spain not 
only desirable, but perpetual. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ The old house seems to be in a remarkable 
state of preservation. ’ ’ 

“Yes; it was one of the conditions of the old 
Dorn’s will, I have heard, that it should be kept 
in good and thorough repair, and should be for- 
ever the home of his descendants, when they 
were not travelling across the seas, or they were 
to forfeit all claim to their inheritance of his 
possessions. Had I been one of the heirs, Max, 
under such restraints, I should have blown the 
ghostly old rat-hole up. I’d as lieve take up my 
abode in a mausoleum, or the Catacombs, do you 
know!” 

“I don’t doubt you in the least, Raoul. But 
what you have told me only heightens my desire 


22 


WARP AND WOOF. 


to get into it, and I mean to, by fair means or 
foul, with you to help. ’ ’ 

“It’s not a show-place. Max, and I can’t im- 
agine what in the mischief has got into you! 
One would suppose you’d had a revelation or 
something, about Captain Kidd’s treasures being 
secreted there under some of the floors. I’ve 
heard that artists, who were wild to get in to see 
the statuary and paintings, failed to do so. 
Neither love nor money could open the doors for 
them. People here feel no interest in the rub- 
bishy old place; nobody’ d care if it tumbled to 
pieces to-morrow. There are many still living 
of our old French society, my aunt among them, 
who used to go there to formal dinners and 
grand entertainments, who, having seen its an- 
tique splendors, are satisfied to forget them, 
since they no longer contribute to their enjoy- 
ment. ’ ’ 

“I must get in there, Raoul,” I said. 

“See here. Max Ashton, I’ve learned to know, 
since I first met you among the fiords of Nor- 
way, that whatever you set your mind upon 
you’ll do. In this case I can only help you 
through De Moret’s factor, who may be dead, or 
gone away, for aught I know. I’ll have him 
hunted up if he’s above ground, and if found, I 
am safe in promising that your wish shall be 
gratified. The summer before I went abroad, I 
pulled the old fellow through the yellow fever. 
I had joined the ‘Howards,’ you know, for want 


WARP AND WOOF 


23 


of something better to do, and he fell to my care. 
He’s a grateful old soul, and will be glad to do 
me a favor — that is, if he can be found.” 

“He’s alive, and you’ll find him, I have faith 
tc believe. Now, for a swift trot to the lake.” 

“Where there are no haunted houses to ex- 
plore, thank fortune, but brightness, and flowers, 
and fruits, and sweet smells, and the shade of 
great, moss-draped trees, where, I wager, we’ll 
meet some of those beautiful girls we were intro- 
duced to at Madame de Vigny’s last night, enjoy- 
ing a picnic, and revelling like Naiads and 
Dryads among the wild roses and trailing jas- 
mine. And — pleasant thought — we shall be 
invited to dine al fresco with them. Then, to- 
night — Celeste! — it is really too delicious to be 
real. ’ ’ 

Raoul’s expectations were more than realized, 
down, or up, to the felicity of seeing the famous 
dancer pirouette, float and twirl that evening 
until she seemed like a graceful aerial vision, 
then going wild over her performance to that de- 
gree that he helped to unharness her horses after 
she got into her carriage, and with a number of 
others, in whose veins flowed the best blood of 
Louisiana, drew her from the theatre to her hotel. 
I could not stand such a climax, and went back 
to my apartments disgusted; and when, later, 
Raoul came banging at my door to tell me how 
the Queen of the night had smiled, and thanked 
them, I pretended to be sound asleep. I was 


24 


WARP AND WOOF. 


reading a florid account of the affair in one of the 
morning papers, as I loitered over my breakfast, 
when Raoul came in, looking radiant; I was 
afraid he was going to tell me what a fool he had 
made of himself the evening before, and offered 
him but a glum welcome, which he quickly dis- 
pelled by saying: 

“We’ve found him. Max, and you can see it.” 

It was my turn to grow ecstatic when I under- 
stood that the “he” was Monsieur de Moret’s 
factor, who had neither gone away nor died, but 
was living quietly at the same boarding house he 
had abode in ever since he came to New Orleans, 
nearly forty years before. He had not heard of 
Raoul’s return until, at the latter’s request, old 
McDougal, who used to know him slightly, went 
in quest of him. Raoul had found him waiting 
to see him, when he got down to breakfast, and 
explained why he had sent for him. He not 
only consented at once to our seeing the interior 
of the Del Alaya house, but offered to conduct us 
there himself, so delighted was he to do anything 
for Monsieur Raoul and his friend — a thing wild 
horses could not have dragged him to do for any- 
one else. Would to-day suit, say ii o’clock? if 
so, he would meet Messieurs there at that hour; 
the morning was the best time to see the pic- 
tures and things. “There,” added Raoul, snap- 
ping his finger and thumb together, like the boy 
he was, “how will that do?” 

“Splendidly! You only want a little .spurring 


WARP AND WOOF. 


25 


Up to slay any dragon that obstructs your way ! 
It is near eleven, and we mustn’t keep your friend 
waiting. I’ll just slip into my coat; hand me 
over my Panama hat from the sofa there, and 
we’ll be off!” I exclaimed. Then Raoul and I 
went down, got into the carriage, and in a short 
time we were standing with the old factor, who 
awaited us there, before the great iron-studded 
doors of the entrance to Dom Pedro del Alaya’s 
house and grounds. I was curiously on the alert 
to see by what means those heavy, massive gates 
were to be opened, but I only saw the old man 
rest his hand for a moment, as if for support, 
against the centre where they closed. Whether 
he pressed or touched a spring; I could not tell; 
I was sure, however, that I saw his right foot 
put down more vigorously than an ordinary 
movement required, at the same moment; then I 
heard the clangor of a distant bell. A minute 
or so passed, then the sound of rusty bolts, and 
a thud, as if the end of a heavy bar had dropped, 
were heard; the ponderous gates swung slowly 
open, creaking as they turned on their hinges, 
and we were invited to enter. But I looked 
around in vain for the porter who had withdrawn 
those bolts, and let down the heavy iron-cased 
bars; there was no one to be seen, and of course 
I did not feel at liberty to ask questions. There 
was a tangled jungle of osage-orange, which had 
once been a hedge, near the entrance, and I was 
satisfied that the porter had slipped behind 


26 


WARP AND WOOF. 


their impenetrable screen to avoid the presence 
of strangers. 

“The ghost did it,” whispered Raoul, as we 
followed our guide, after he had readjusted the 
fastenings of the great gates, towards the house. 
There was a wide carriage road winding through 
the grounds, and on each side a broad, marble- 
flagged foot-way, now ajl grass-grown and ne- 
glected; and never did I see such a tangled wil- 
derness of bloom and sweetness, everything 
growing wild and at will. Cherokee roses and 
the ‘ ‘ Spanish dagger ’ ’ mingled their flaunting 
blossoms side by side with the rarest and loveli- 
est exotics, that were full of the rich beauty and 
languid aromas of the tropics; the white jasmine 
with star-like flowers clambered and hung in fes- 
toons over everything; the fountains were buried 
in roses of every hue, and citron trees veiled the 
naked statues. A peacock, his outspread plum- 
age gleaming in purple, gold and green, strutted 
along a tessellated marble walk, his crested head 
haughtily erect, and his green and gold breast 
puffed out, as if trying to make up by his burn- 
ished splendors for his inability to cope in song 
with the brown mocking-bird that swung in the 
vines above him, pouring out his heart in wild, 
sweet bursts of melody, that he could never hope 
to imitate. Beyond all, belting the walls, and 
standing in groups, were the old stately trees 
with their trailing mosses, their fragrant blooms, 
and cream-white flowers. The house -itself had 


WARP ANl) WOOF. 


27 


:io architectural charm; built on a stone founda- 
tion which rose some distance above the ground, 
the octagonal tower, rising high above the roof, 
was the only thing that broke its square monot- 
ony; the crows that had been building under its 
pointed roof for years were flitting in and out, 
flapping their black wings in the sunshine, and 
sprawling upon the eaves with an air of proprie- 
torship which no one disputed, their discordant 
cries of nnrest throwing a more eerie spell over 
everything. All the shutters of the house were 
of solid wood, and closed, which added not- a lit- 
tle to its grim aspect; under the pillared porte- 
cochere^ broad marble steps led to the hall door, 
which was high, arched, studded with iron, and 
set between massive stone pillars like the one 
through which we had entered, except that upon 
this there was a massive knocker of bronze, a 
marvel of grotesque art, a mythological idea — 
its shape a winged serpent, covered with scales, 
with a beautiful human head, the face full of a 
strange pain as it looked wistfully into yours 
from between its small wings, as if entreating 
release from some evil spell. I could fancy that 
one might easily shrink from grasping that eerie- 
looking head to beat it against the hard metal 
against which it hung, but it was the only “open 
sesame’’ by which one could obtain admission, 
as our guide proved by giving several heavy 
knocks, which sent a shock of sound echoing 
through the stillness within. Presently we heard 


28 


WARP AND WOOF. 


a muffled scraping, then a tapping, then a wheez- 
ing cough, and a voice of complaint as a bar was 
lowered, and a ponderous key was turned with 
great effort in the lock; then the doors were 
slowly opened, revealing an old negress as black 
as ebony, who peered at us from under her yel- 
low Madras turban with keen scrutiny, the dark- 
ness of her countenance relieved by the broad 
Guinea-gold rings that hung from her ears. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


29 


CHAPTER III. 

END OF MAX ASHTON’S JOURNAL. 

‘ Hi, Chapita! ” said the factor, with a friendly 
nod. 

She dropped an abrupt little curtsey, and 
spoke in a jargon of guttural and barbaric sounds, 
he answering her in the same unknown tongue; 
then she turned her eyes on us with a keen, 
searching glance, and waited in silence. The 
factor informed us that Chapita was, in the ab- 
sence of the family, chatelaine of the establish- 
ment, an old and trusted servant who had nursed 
Madame de Moret in her infancy, and he might 
say until her last breath; that he had directed 
her to show us through the house, as he was 
compelled by a business engagement of import- 
ance to his employer’s interests to leave us: she 
could only speak a few words of English, and no 
French, her language being a mixture of cor- 
rupt Spanish, African and Creole dialect, “but,” 
he added, “she is faithful, messieurs, and will 
carry out my orders to show you through the 
apartments. ’ ’ 

Here was a disappointment! Knowing how 
garrulous persons of her race are, and how proud 
of the wealth and consequence of their owners, 


30 


WARP AND WOOF. 


I had counted on gleaning from Cliapita some- 
thing of the traditions of the house of Alaya; 
but she might as well have been dumb so far as 
my designs in that quarter went. She barred 
and locked the door, and gave us a sign to fol- 
low her. Across the tessellated marble floor, in 
the centre of which stood an exquisitely carved 
marble fountain, now silent, its winged graces 
half shrouded in dust, we followed Chapita into 
a superb suite of apartments, which were sepa- 
rated by clustered pillars of tinted marble, which 
supported the graceful arches of the lofty ceil- 
ing; the walls were hung with invaluable paint- 
ings, great mirrors of antique form, and portraits 
of knightly men and rarely beautiful women. 
There were cabinets and tables, massive and black 
with age, rich in carving, inlaid with mother- 
of-pearl and sandal wood, and veined with gold ; 
but a gray film of dust rested on every ob- 
ject. The floors, polished like a mirror, reflected 
the marble and alabaster statues that occupied 
every corner and niche, with such distinctness, 
even through the dust that spread unbroken its 
tissue veil over them, that, in the obscurity only 
relieved by rays of sunshine which stole through 
cracks in the shutters, their white forms looked 
like phantoms, family ghosts, reposing where 
their feet had once trod many a gay and stately 
measure. I noted rare vases and ancient 
treasures of art, crowded in rich profusion be- 
hind glass and upon slabs of mosaic that it 


WARP AND WOOF. 


31 


would have taken a week to examine in detail ; 
so I passed them by with a glance only at their 
elegant forms, their workmanship and coloring 
being veiled, like all else, with dust. I was 
Vandal enough, at a moment when old Chapita’s 
head was turned another way to watch Raoul, 
who was poking around a collection of antique 
medals, to write my name in the dust at the feet 
of a beautiful dame, whose dark, languishing 
eyes seemed to follow and fascinate me. The 
last room of the suite contained a large oriel 
window which opened on the grounds; it was 
small, and richly furnished in the modern style 
which we know. A portrait hung in each re- 
cess; the one to the right, of a small fair woman, 
not beautiful, but with a countenance full of 
wonderful sweetness and strange sadness, which 
appealed at once to one’s human sympathies. 
She was attired in a robe of some diaphanous 
white fabric, and her profuse pale-brown hair 
was gathered up on the back of her head by a 
pearl comb, her only ornament, unless the rose 
that was drooping on her bosom could be so 
called. The other was the portrait of the hand- 
somest man I ever saw. Dark hair, dark eyes 
full of fire, a face that would have been noble 
and chivalric but for the mouth, which was sen- 
suous and weak, and neutralized to me the 
higher meaning of his physiognomy. It was a 
face I shall never forget; it is fixed indelibly on 
my memory. I looked towards Chapita, who 


32 


WARP AND WOOF. 


was watching me ; she nodded in turn towards 
the portraits, and two words from her lips, 
“Madame and Monsieur,” informed me with 
Raoul’s help that I looked on the pictured facee 
of Monsieur and Madame de Moret. We fol- 
lowed Chapita into the hall, and up the broad, 
winding, mahogany stair-case, the balustrades 
of which were of brass, wrought into fanciful 
designs of great beauty, and worth a pilgrimage 
there to see even had there been no other rare, 
antique work of art under the old roof: she led 
us through apartments fitted up as for royal 
guests, their splendors half concealed by the 
filmy dust; and at last she paused before a closed 
door, hesitated an instant and gave us a sharp 
glance, which a little later I interpreted as an 
unuttered query as to our worthiness to enter the 
sacred precincts beyond. But she remembered 
her orders, and taking a key from her bosom, 
unlocked the chamber. ‘ ‘ killy Madame’ s room, ’ ’ 
she whispered as she ushered us in. We might 
have known it by the exquisite and pure ele- 
gance of its appointments, its numberless refined, 
womanly touches, the pictures of angels and 
saints that glorified the walls; by that lace-draped 
shrine of the Virgin-Mother in an arched recess, 
at whose feet lay a cluster of yellow, withered 
flowers, probably the last she had placed there, 
where they had faded and perished as she herself 
had done — their sweet life exhaling, I hoped, 
heavenward in memory of the devout thought 


WARP AND WOOF. 


33 


they expressed. I felt strangely touched, and old 
Chapita’s eye noted it I suppose; for touching my 
arm lightly with her finger, she made a sign that 
I should follow her, which I immediately did to- 
wards another recess opposite, but on the same 
side of the apartment, much wider and deeper 
than the one in which the oratory stood. Within 
it, quite covering the wall, I discovered a 
large painting, but I could not distinguish the 
subject, until Chapita, with a quick movement, 
threw open the shutter of a high, narrow win- 
dow, which had evidently been cut there for the 
purpose of casting the right light on the picture 
to bring out its wonderful and masterly effects. 
I knew it at once from a small engraving I had 
seen of it in the museum at Seville, and a de- 
scription I had read of it in a book of “Art 
Travels in Spain.” It was a marvellously fine 
copy of Raphael’s “ Madonna, del Sp^simo,” to 
see which I had deferred leaving Spam cn .the 
very eve of starting homeward, and had jour- 
neyed across the rugged country in wintry 
weather, to the Bscurial, but only to find disap- 
pointment when I arrived. The king was there, 
ill, and, as the painting was in his apartments, no 
one could be admitted. In vain all my pleading, 
my offers of gold, my proposed delay, if at the 
end of two weeks I might have a glimpse of the 
marvellous painting. My very eagerness helped 
to defeat my object; their replies savored of sus- 
picion — they doubtless imagined I was a Carlist 


34 


WARP AND WOOF. 


spy with designs on the life of his sacred majesty, 
and the doors were shut in my face. But what 
a compensation to find it thus unexpectedly! 

Was this the strange spell that had drawn me 
so strangely towards the old house of Dom Pedro 
del Alaya? As I gazed upon the masterly crea- 
tion, copied evidently by a hand but little infe- 
rior to his who painted the original, my soul was 
touched by the deepest emotion; for in the pres- 
ence of the great mystery of love and sorrow, 
unlike all other love, all other sorrows; that was 
there portrayed, I felt how faithless I had been, 
and how unworthy of a sacrifice so divine. ‘ ‘ It 
was,” to borrow the words of one who had gazed 
upon the original,* “a vivid representation of 
the Virgin’s agony, when her divine Son, faint- 
ing under the weight of the cross, began to as- 
cend the hill of Calvary! Never did I see such 
solemn depths of color, such majesty of character 
as here delineated/, Never was sorrow ‘like my 
sorrow’ so depicted in the Virgin-Mother’s coun- 
tenance and attitude; never was a sublime and 
God-like calm in the midst of agony, conveyed 
more closely home to the human heart than in 
the face of Christ! Here it was all faithfully de- 
picted! The impression was overpowering. 

It was here, before this realistic and touching 
scene, that the gentle lady who was mistress of 
all the worldly treasure I had seen, and untold 

* Beckford, author of" “Vathek,” “Travels in Spain and 
Portugal,” etc. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


35 


riches besides, used to bring her sorrows to offer 
them with the pain and sorrows of Jesus and 
His Virgin Mother. There stood her prie-dieti 
before it, there lay her rosary of garnet beads, and 
her missal with a crumpled yellow lace handker- 
chief, that looked as if it might have been thrust 
drenched with tears, between the pages, just 
where she had left them when she last knelt 
there, the same gray film of dust over them as 
over all else, except the painting of the “Ma- 
donna del Spasimo. ’ ’ Chapita, I suspected, had 
made this her care, knowing how much her 
‘ ‘ lyilly Mistress ’ ’ loved to contemplate and pray 
before it — thinking, with one of the pretty super- 
stitions of her race, that should she some time 
return when all was silent, and the night shad- 
ows wrapped the world, she would be glad to see 
it as her own devotional care had ever kept it. 
It was only an idea which was suggested by the 
fact that dust lay thick on every other object, 
the bed with its costly drapings of silk and lace, 
the dainty little crib beside it where the babe 
she left so soon used to slumber when not cradled 
in her arms! What business had we — strangers 
— in a spot so hallowed as this? No wonder old 
Chapita was loth to let us in. 

“We will go,” I whispered to Raoul. 

“Just in time to save my life, Max! I am suf- 
focating; in another moment I shall have as- 
phyxia,” returned my light-hearted Southern 
friend, to whom sunshine, air, and the bright 
side of nature, were essentials. 


36 


WARP AND WOOF. 


Cliapita let us out by tlie way we came, after 
we had thanked her by laying some bright gold 
pieces in her ebon palm. We heard the creaking 
of rusty bolts, and the lumbering of heavy bars 
dropping into place, as the gates closed upon us. 
There must have been some cunning mechanism 
for opening and closing and securing these iron- 
ribbed portals, for that old creature could no 
more have done it unaided, than she could have 
moved a mountain. Once more we were beyond 
the old walls, in the bright, commonplace, every- 
day world. 

Even the brilliant follies and mad fun of 
Mardi-gras could not obliterate from my mind 
the impressions made upon it by my visit to the 
old Spanish house, or from my soul the wondrous 
delineation of things which, to my shame, had 
been almost forgotten, but were so vividly re- 
called by the “Madonna del Spasimo.” 

Shortly after I got home, I received a letter 
from Raoul, which contained a piece of informa- 
tion of strange interest. “Cecile Eayet, the 
beautiful quadroon, has suddenly disappeared, 
leaving no trace behind her; she had no lovers', 
and lived like a religieuse ; her old grandmother 
has gone raving mad, and been put under re- 
straint; the mother, they say, is sullen, says but 
little, and will soon die with consumption, the 
disease of her race,” .So wrote Raoul, vexing 
my mind with problems difficult to work out. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


37 


Years have passed since I wrote the above nar- 
rative in my journal, and the incidents I have 
related were fading from my mind, until now, 
strangely enough, I have been brought in con- 
tact with certain members of the family of Del 
Alaya, of whose fortunes and destiny the old 
Spanish house in New Orleans appears to be the 
centre. This I have noted, intending at some 
future time when I am at leisure to put the inci- 
dents which have occurred into narrative form. 


So ends Max Ashton’s journal, but for a cause 
which we will relate hereafter, he did not carry 
out his design, leaving it to other hands, who 
received the facts from his own lips. 


38 


WARP AND WOOP. 


CHAPTER IV. 

“let it be recorded.” 

In a sittiug-room which was brightened by a 
sparkling wood fire and the sunlight that drifted 
through the fragrant plants that filled the win- 
dows, scattering golden flecks upon the floor, a 
fair girl, and a young army officer in undress uni- 
form, were conversing pleasantly together. She 
was telling him that she was not yet quite sure 
that he, with his bronzed hairy face and broad 
shoulders, was the stripling brother who had 
gone South with his division four years since, 
his face as fair as a girl’s, and in person almost 
as slender; “and,” she added, “whoever you 
may be, you are inches and inches taller than 
Dave.” But all the time she was saying this, 
there was a proud, loving look in her eyes, which 
told him that she knew he was her very own and 
only brother. 

“lam pretty sure I should not have known 
you, Gerty, had I met you on the street, or in 
any other house than this, you’ve grown so. 
Why, you’re quite a woman, and your pug nose 
has straightened itself out, and you’ve caught 
up with your eyes, which used to be such great, 
staring ones that I often wondered how you 


WARP AND WOOF. 


39 


managed to go to sleep! Altogether, I like the 
looks of you; but maybe you are not Gerty, but 
some far-away cousin who has been adopted in 
the family,” he said, while his eyes twinkled 
with mischief and mirth. 

“I must have been a fright,” she said, laugh- 
ing. “Your reminiscences go a little way; but 
have you no better proof to convince me that 
you are Dave ? ” 

“Yes,” he said, “I think this will settle the 
question.” He drew a watch-guard from his 
breast, to which was suspended a small crucifix, 
a medal of the Blessed Virgin, and a little 
wooden cross, rudely fashioned, and inlaid with 
bits of mother-of-pearl, one of those which, 
blessed on the Holy Sepulchre, are indulged for 
the hour of death. He held them towards her. 

“Ah, yes! You are no impostor,” she said, 
kneeling beside him and holding them in the 
palm of her hand. ‘ ‘ How well I remember that 
sad night of parting, Davy, when mother hung 
these around your neck; I thought surely the 
world was coming to an end, we were in such 
depths of grief — for you know, Dave, we never 
expected to look upon you living again. If these 
could only speak, I should know all the dangers 
you have passed; but they helped to keep you 
straight, didn’ t they ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, indeed! without them I’m afraid I 
should many a time have forgotten,” answered 
the young soldier, frankly, thrusting his trea- 
sures back into his breast. 


40 


WARl AND WOOF. 


r' 


“I expect you had hard times about youi 
Faith, sometimes?” she asked. 

“Yes, the fellows would chaff me about it, 
now and then; but when they saw it had no ef- 
fect, they left off, and, on the whole, behaved 
well enough. ’ ’ 

“Let me clean the medal and crucifix for you; 
they’re as black as iron.” 

“No, indeed, thanks! Leave them so; they 
were with me in all the battles we fought, and 
remind me, by their stains and rust, of the mer- 
ciful protection that guarded me from the deadly 
missiles that often darkened the air around us, 
when brave fellows were falling by hundreds, cut 
down in the .morning and- prime of life, at my 
side, before me, everywhere on those dreadful 
and hard fought fields. But let us talk of some- 
thing else, Gerty. I want to hear something 
about father; do you know, I think he has aged 
very much, and has a care-worn look that I 
never saw on his face before. Has everything 
gone well with him ? ” 

“Yes, and no! You know when the war actu- 
ally broke out, real estate went down to zero; in 
fact, all values seemed to grow worthless for the 
time being. Of course, father was dreadfully 
cramped, and he thought he was ruined; our in- 
come was filed down to barely enough to provide 
us with the merest and plainest living; then 
what with anxiety about you, mother’s health 
utterly failed, which affected his spirits still more, •• 


WARP AND WOOP. 


41 


and he lost immensely in southern securities — I 
really cannot explain it all, but father will, no 
doubt, when he talks over his affairs with you. 
But you know, things brightened up again, 
much of his property doubled in value, and we 
are getting on nicely, he tells me. Of course he 
could not retrieve many of his losses; but he is 
satisfied, since he has been able to satisfy his own 
creditors to the full value of their claims. Our 
father is a noble character, Dave; his troubles 
have only brought out his virtues in strong re- 
lief, and I should have said his calm trust in 
Divine Providence. He never failed to attend 
daily Mass, nor let any cauise whatever interfere 
with his religious duties ; and so, in the midst of 
his distracting cares, he found strength and con- 
solation. I am so proud of father, Davy — ^he has 
a royal nature and an upright soul. ’ ’ 

The young soldier’s eyes filled with tears, his 
lips trembled, his heart swelled with emotion* 
he did not speak, but pressed Gerty’s hand in 
sympathy and approval of all she had said of 
the father they both so dearly loved. 

“And so you see,” she went on, “although 
every one has been very kind, and mamma’s old 
friends have not only been constant, but have 
been very anxious to introduce me into society, 
I have begged off from time to time, and have 
managed to grow up very contentedly on the 
shady side of the world. Only think, Dave, I am 
nineteen! Things have got a little threadbare 


42 


WARP AND WOOP. 


about the house; carpets are faded, some of them 
are darned in a way that I consider artistic; the 
cushions and covers of sofas and chairs are shabby ; 
but do you know, Dave, I’m as proud of our 
shabbiness as you soldiers are of an old, tat- 
tered battle-flag — both are signs of conflict and 
victory!” 

“It is home^'^'' said Dave Warner, “and if it is 
all made as bright and pretty as this room, I 
don’t see how it could be improved.” 

“Oh, Davy! if I told you how I have racked 
my ingenuity, and how wonderfully I have con- 
trived to keep up appearances, you’d laugh! I 
have really become an expert upholsteress and 
cabinet-maker. I can plane, and saw, and ham- 
mer nails, and screw screws into things to keep 
them from tumbling to pieces, like a jack-of-all 
trades! You shall come into my workshop some 
day when I’m busy, to talk to me, and smoke; 
then you’ll see what I’ve learned since you went 
away to the war.” 

‘ ‘ I had no idea what an accomplished sister I 
have — such a mingling of the dolce and utile in 
one young lady, is a marvel to me, ’ ’ he said, 
laughing. 

“Come, Davy, don’t be sarcastic;” she an- 
swered, rising from his side, where she had been 
kneeling, and leaning upon the arm of his chair. 

“Sarcastic! I never was more in earnest in my 
life; I uttered only a genuine tribute of admira- 
tion, You’re a dear, noble girl, my Gerty,” he 


WARP AND WOOF. 


43 


replied, looking fondly at her as she stood there 
in her young womanhood, blushing and smiling 
before him. 

Gertrude Warner was not beautiful, but her 
soft gray eyes, her beautiful silky brown hair, 
the purity of her complexion, her fine, evenly 
shaped teeth and a dimple in her left cheek, 
formed an ensemble that was most attractive, es- 
pecially when her face was lit up with smiles, or 
a pleased interest in anything she was reading or 
hearing. When at rest, her face was grave and 
thoughtful, and some said her mouth was too 
large, and her nose not fashioned in classic lines; 
but no one ever disputed the fact of its being full 
of expression, character and intelligence. So 
thought her brother, who had not seen her, until 
this morning, for nearly four years. 

‘ ‘ And now, ’ ’ he said, ‘ ‘ I want to hear about 
Uncle Max; I asked father and mother not to 
send him word I had come, for I mean to go to 
his den presently to giye him a stirprise. I do 
like to astonish folks. ’ ’ 

“You’ll succeed to-day to the ‘top of your 
bent’ I’m sure;” she answered, with a merry 
laugh. “Uncle Max has grown gray; I have 
heard mother say that he used to be a man of the 
world, and devoted to all its pleasures, until, 
some years ago, after spending several years in 
Europe, he came home entirely changed, and 
settled down to the secluded life he has led ever 
since. You and I always knew him just as he 


44 


WARP AND WOO:^. 


is, and it’s hard to realize that he coul 1 have 
once been a worldly and frivolous man of fashion, 
living astray from his faith, and giving all his 
time to the pursuit of such pleasures as irreligious 
men delight in. He’s a very handsome man, is 
Uncle Max; and do you know Dave, mother and 
I both think that he was disappointed in love 
while he was abroad. You needn’t laugh so in- 
credulously, for why shouldn’t Uncle Max have 
his romance as well as another? But he has just 
settled down into confirmed bachelor habits; he 
goes to church a great deal, and pays frequent 
visits to some clerical friends he has, at the 
Jesuits’ College in Georgetown; it has even been 
whispered that he intends entering the priest' 
hood, but no one knows, for Uncle Max never 
talks about himself. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Whew ! that is an astonishing piece of news. 
The dear old fellow! how I am longing to see 
him. I always thought, Gerty, there was no one 
in the world that could compare with Uncle 
Max; this is the first I’ve heard about his former 
life, and it surprises me by its contrast with all 
that I remember of him; but I shall see him 
presently. Meantime, tell me what has become 
of that wild, pretty little witch, Rose-Marie 
Hazel ton? I suppose she’s grown up into quite 
a fashionable young lady?” 

“You are right. Rose-Marie is a young lady, 
and quite a belle; men pronounce her beautiful 
and bewitching, and she is really both. But 


WARP AND WOOP. 


45 


slie’s the greatest puzzle I ever saw; she minds 
little else than her own will. Her mother died 
soon after you went away, leaving a little boy- 
baby, whom Rose-Marie has undertaken the 
charge of, and, as might be expected, is spoiling 
entirely, I’m afraid — but she does not think so, 
and loves him dearly. Mr. Hazelton is absorbed 
in his profession, and lives almost in his law 
chambers, leaving her perfect mistress of his 
great, handsome house, servants, horses and car- 
riage — but mercy! there she is, Dave, just com- 
ing up the front steps. ’ ’ 

“I must run and get into my other coat, 
Gerty, before she comes in;” said Captain War- 
ner, tossing his cigar into the fire. 

“You shan’t move,” said Gerty, pressing her 
hand down upon his shoulder, to prevent his 
rising; “just wait; you do very well.” 

He had no time now to escape, for the door was 
thrown open and a young lady, dressed in the 
height of the fashion, was ushered in, her cheeks 
glowing, her fair hair blown away in many a 
golden tangle from her forehead, her lips half 
parted with a smile that revealed her white 
pearly teeth and her dimples, while at the same 
time there was a wide-open, astonished look in 
her brown eyes at sight of a handsome young 
officer, tete-a-tete with her friend. Gertrude ran 
to meet ter, kissed her, then leading her forward 
said: 

“Captain Warner, Miss Hazleton! Why, Rose- 
Marie, have you forgotten Dave?” 


46 


WARP AND WOOF. 


He bowed, not knowing but that her grown-up 
dignities required something awfully ceremo- 
nious. 

“What nonsense! Dave Warner, shake hands!” 
she exclaimed, with a merry laugh. “ Is it army 
style to snub old friends? ” 

“No, no indeed,” he said, taking her hand in 
a hearty clasp, all reserve gone, “I am awfully 
glad to see you: am I expected to — to — kiss 
you?” 

‘ ‘ I beg your pardon ! What did you observe ?’ ’ 
remarked the young woman, drawing herself up 
and throwing a blank look into her eyes, as if 
she had not heard him. 

‘ ‘ Allow me, ’ ’ he said, handing her a chair, ‘ ‘ I 
don’t think I have seen you since the year I left 
West Point; and here you are a tall, fashionable 
young lady, ready to freeze an unsophisticated 
fellow just because ” — 

‘ ‘ He was impertinent, ’ ’ she interrupted, with 
a quick little toss of her head; “but I’ll forgive 
you because you have been behaving so well 
down South that your friends are proud of you. ’ ’ 

“What could you know?” asked Captain 
Warner, the quick blood mounting to his fore- 
head. “I did nothing more than thousands of 
others. ’ ’ 

“Well! maybe you don’t believe it, but I do 
read the papers sometimes, especially the army 
news, and of course I see when any of my friends 
are gazetted for bravery on the field, and promo- 


WARP AND WOOF. 


47 


tioii. But indeed I am glad to see you back, old 
Davy — safe and sound, so many fine fellows that 
I knew and liked have marched gayly away, and 
been killed. War is a sad sort of business, don’t 
you think so?” 

“ I do indeed. I want to forget it for a little 
while. ’ ’ 

“ It is gay enough here to help you to do that. 
I’d like to introduce you to some of our set, for 
you must know that Gerty is such a prude that 
she won’t go to the Germans, or any other of the 
delightful things that are going on.” 

“I shall have to put myself under your wing 
in that case. Miss Hazleton — ” 

“If you call me that I’ll never speak to you 
again — ’ ’ 

“What then?” he asked, quietly. 

“My name is Rose-Marie; you may call me 
so, if you like. ’ ’ 

“I’m afraid I shall take to writing poetry if I 
do! Rose-Marie! Why it is music itself. ” 

“Very well, do! I dearly love to have poetry 
written about me,” she said, laughing. “Have 
you seen papa yet? ” 

“No, I only got home this morning at six. 
How is he?” 

‘ ‘ Gradually turning to parchment. I can nevei 
get him to talk to me about anything I can un- 
derstand, the few times I see him. Sometimes, 
by way of being very entertaining, he reads one 
of his arguments to me, and by the time he gets 


WARP AND WOOF. 


48 

tliroiigli I feel idiotic. He lets me do as I please^ 
but he doesn’t dream of how much I need him, 
so I just have to fight my way along the best I 
can. Oh Gerty! how good it must be to have a 
brother! ” 

“It is indeed; — but you have a brother, Rose- 
Marie. ’ ’ 

“I don’t mean that sort of a brother, but a 
grown up man-brother. My brother. Captain 
Davy, is just five years old, the prettiest little 
outlaw that was ever seen 1 He will end by mak- 
ing me a lunatic. He threw my beautiful Vene- 
tian glass toilette set out of the window this 
morning — every piece! Of course there wasn’t a 
bit of it as big as my finger-nail left. When I 
went into my room, very opportunely, there he 
was, balanced on the window-sill, screaming with 
laughter over the smash and glitter he had made 
on the pavement. I almost fainted when I saw 
his danger, but I crept up and caught him by his 
ankles and hauled him in. ’ ’ 

“What happened then?” asked Captain War- 
ner, highly amused. 

‘ ‘ Do you really want to know? Well, he roared 
and I — spanked him; then he screamed and 
sobbed in such a way that I hugged and kissed 
him, and gave him the loveliest box of French 
confectionery, that had been left with a charming 
billet-doux for me, about an hour before. It was 
sent, too, by that enchanting foreigner, that 
every one is raving about.” 


WARP AND WOOF. 49 

“Why don’t you drown him? he’ll certainly 
turn your hair white,” asked Captain Warner. 

‘ ‘ Who — the foreigner ? ’ ’ 

“No: your little outlaw. It would be better 
for him than that sort of management. ’ ’ 

“Oh! you cruel creature! Why he’s the dear- 
est, loveliest child you ever saw! If you were 
only to see him in the beautiful Highland suit 
I’ve just had made for him, with a real eagle’s 
plume that is fastened in his Glengary bonnet, 
with a great cairngorm clasp, you’d think he 
was one of Fra Angelico’s angels.” 

“Dressed as a Highlander! That’s a new and 
refreshing idea, I declare ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Gerty , ’ ’ said Rose-Marie, ‘ ‘ do you hear how 
your brother is laughing at me? Come and talk 
to me, or I’ll go. You have not said three words 
to me since I came in, and Captain Warner does 
nothing but contradict me.” 

‘ ‘ I have not had the ghost of a chance to get 
in a word, you know I haven’t,” said Gerty, 
laughing. ‘ ‘ But who’s your new friend, the for- 
eigner? That will do to begin with.” 

“Oh, he’s splendid! It is understood that he’s 
a j)erson of rank and title, but prefers to drop all 
that while in this country, which I think is 
modest, and in good taste. Don’t you?” 

“Very,” answered the young officer; “most 
excellent taste, if his reasons for so doing will 
bear inspection. ’ ’ 

“Davy Warner, will you please to hold your 

2* 


50 


WARP AND WOOF. 


tongue? I wish to tell Gerty something. He’s 
very rich, and oh, so handsome!” she went on; 
“and he is spending the winter here with his 
mother, who, by the way, does not go into 
society. She’s a devotee, and I see her very 
often in church, her pew being near ours. She 
wears black all the time — black velvet, and a 
black lace scarf thrown over her bonnet, like 
the Spanish women wear their veils; and the only 
jewelry she ever has about her is a diamond 
cross, the stones as big as the tip of my finger; it 
slips out sometimes, and it flashes so when it 
catches the light, you’d think there was a rain- 
bow somewhere around. And she’s the most 
beautiful woman I ever saw; such great, soft, 
black eyes; and her features are like something 
chiselled — ’ ’ 

“She is remarkably beautiful. I have also 
noticed her in church, but her face is a very sad 
one,” answered 'Gerty. 

“Yes, it is. She always reminds me of the 
Mater Dolorosa,” said Rose-Marie, in gentle 
tones. 

“You are very fond of foreigners, aren’t you?” 
inquired Captain Dave, in a conciliatory tone. 

“Oh, yes, indeed! There’s something so ro- 
mantic about them, and their manners are so 
refined and polished, and they are always so 
deferential to ladies. They’d think it the worst 
form to even attempt to snub a lady,” she re- 
plied, with a saucy smile. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


51 


‘‘What angels they must be — how perfectly 
irresistible!” he answered, laughing; determined 
she should not see that he understood her covert 
reproach. 

“Of course they are,” she answered, resent- 
fully. “I intend to marry a foreigner. Nothing 
would induce me to marry an American; they 
have got entirely too good an opinion of them- 
selves, and are so self-assertive that it borders on 
vulgarity; don’t you think so, Gerty?” 

“No; I do not,” that young lady flared out; 
“I think they’re the bravest, truest, best men on 
the face of the earth; and if I can’t marry an 
American, I’ll be an old maid.” 

“You will?” 

“Yes, I will.” 

Rose-Marie laughed merrily. “You are wit- 
ness, Davy. Your sister will marry only an 
American ; I will marry only a foreigner. Let it 
be recorded. Now I must go. I receive my 
friends day after to-morrow from four to six, and 
mean to have dancing; won’t you come with 
Gerty ? ’ ’ she said, holding out her hand to her 
old playmate, as she rose to go. 

‘ ‘ Thanks ; yes, we will come with pleasure, ’ ’ 
he said, holding her hand for an instant in the 
warm, honest clasp of his own. Then the girls 
embraced each other, and Rose-Marie flitted out 
into the sunshine, to make other calls. 

“That girl has good metal in her. I don’t 
believe she’s as fnvolous at heart as she ap- 


52 


WARP AND WOOP. 


pears;” said tlie young soldier, settling himself 
in his chair, and lighting a fresh cigar; ' and 
she’s rarely beautiful; but I tell you, Gerty, I’m 
afraid she has an immense capacity for getting 
into scrapes of one kind or another. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I hope not. Even should she do so in her 
thoughtlessness, I assure you she has spirit 
enough to get out of them. Rose-Marie has a 
sweet, affectionate nature, too.” 

“She’s a Catholic, I suppose?” he asked. 
“Oh, yes indeed! she stands up for her Faith; 
but, I’m sorry to say, does not devote as much 
time as she might to the practice of it. She’s 
very gay and devoted to society; but she’ll 
weary of its pleasures when she finds how mo- 
notonous they are. She has grown up without 
restraint into the sweet wild rose you see. ’ ’ 
“She’s a revelation to me, ’ ’ said Captain Dave, 
leaning back his head, and watching a delicate, 
spiral thread of smoke floating upwards. 

“Take care, dear old fellow; don’t get too 
much interested in Rose-Marie, for you heard 
what she said about marrying a foreigner; and I 
must tell you she is a great flirt. ’ ’ 

“Is she? Very well, I will heed your warn- 
ing, Gerty. I’ll run up and sit a half hour with 
mother, then I’ll go to see Uncle Max.” 

“Do, Davy, dear. You know I’m house- 
keeper, and I have no end of things to do to- 
day. ’ ’ 

“What may they be?” he said, throwing his 
arm around her, and kissing her fondly. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


53 


‘‘Well, this is inspection day, and I have my 
house accounts to look over; then, orders to 
write, and a pudding to make,” she answered, 
laughing. Then she said: “Oh, Davy, it is 
good to have you here at home, safe and sound!” 


54 


WARP AND AVOOF. 


CHAPTER V. 

UNCLE MAX. 

Captain Warner had a fine, military figure, 
and his face, as seen between the visor of his cap 
and his heavy, brown moustache, was so attrac- 
tive in its manly style of feature and expression, 
that, as he walked down Pennsylvania Avenue, 
there was many a whisper among the fashiona- 
ble groups he met, of: “Who is he?” “He’s a 
new comer!” “How handsome! I do hope 
he’s to be stationed here.” “So do I, for 
they’ve ordered nearly all the young officers off. ” 
“Oh, do you know him, Rose-Marie?” exclaimed 
another, as the young officer marched along, in- 
tent only on reaching his uncle’s apartments in 
the shortest possible time, and utterly uncon- 
scious of the curiosity he excited, or that he was 
known to a single individual in the passing 
crowd, until a sweet, clear voice rang out: ‘ ‘ How 
dy’e do again. Captain Warner?” and he had 
just time to lift his cap, as Rose-Marie Hazel ton, 
with a bevy of gay girls, flashed by, going the 
other way. He turned off the avenue, and soon 
found himself in the neighborhood of the City 
Hall, in sight of the old, well -remembered 
quarters, so interwoven in his boyish memories, 


WARP AND WOOF. 


55 


wliere liis uncle Max Ashton, a lawyer of good 
standing, “only a little lazy,” his legal friends 
said, had his abode. A medium-sized, old- 
fashioned, two-story brick house it was, his of- 
fice in front, his library and living rooms back; 
for he hated going up stairs, and occupied the 
first floor entirely, giving the use of all the other 
rooms to a struggling young lawyer with a wife 
and child, refusing any equivalent other than 
their having the premises kept in good order. 
For himself, he had his own servant, who at- 
tended to all his wants. “It was just like Ash- 
ton,” his friends said; “he might have rented 
those rooms profitably for offices; but he’s an odd 
fish. ’ ’ 

Captain Warner ran up the steps, went in and 
tapped on the office door. No response. Then, 
opening it softly, he looked in; the room was 
empty. 

“The Taw,” thought Captain Dave, “is tak- 
ing lunch, ’ ’ and, knowing the ways of the bach- 
elor’s establishment, he stepped across the floor, 
and, pushing open the middle door, saw Mr. 
Ashton seated at a table enjoying his newspaper 
and his oysters together; a man in the prime of 
life, his close-cut gray hair showing a finely- 
shaped head, his face full of intellectual force 
and wearing a habit of deep thought that tinged 
it with sadness. 

“Good afternoon, sir!” said the intruder, lift- 
ing his cap. 


56 


WARP AND WOOF. 


“Good day!” responded Uncle Max, wondei* 
ing at the audacity of this military stranger, who 
intruded so unceremoniously on his privacy, and 
not too well pleased thereat. 

“I beg your pardon for calling at so inoppor- 
tune a time, but I wanted ’ ’ 

Here something familiar in the tone of the 
stranger’s voice made Mr. Ashton look squarely 
into his face, and there he saw an expression 
dancing in his eyes, and around his mouth, which 
made him lay down his knife and fork, drop his 
newspaper and exclaim: 

“What! Can you be Dave Warner?” 

“Indeed, I am he, and nobody else! How do 
you do. Uncle Max?” 

A chair was upset, and a warm hand-clasp and 
embrace followed; then, with a short gruff cough, 
as if something had risen in his throat. Uncle 
Max said: “I’m glad to see you, my boy. Sit 
down. Fighting seems to agree with you; I 
never saw a fellow so grown to sudden manhood 
in my life. I’m very glad to see you, Dave.” 

“Well, sir, it shows how good a thing fresh 
air, plenty of exercise, and plain fare is, for a 
youngster’s constitution; it wasn’t often I saw a 
spread like this, in my four years’ campaign- 
ing.” 

In a little while, after partaking of the good 
cheer before him, urged by the hospitable atten- 
tions of Uncle Max, who evidently thought his 
appetite could never be satisfied after years of 


WARP AND WOOF. 


57 


camp fare, Captain Dave Warner pushed back 
his plate and begged off. Then they began talk- 
ing — the one questioning, the other in reply giv- 
ing an account of himself and the perils he 
escaped by flood and field,” which he would 
have much preferred not to speak* of then, as it 
involved mentioning himself oftener than was 
agreeable to his modesty; but Uncle Max would 
hear it all, and was not to be put off*. 

“Thanks be to God! you are safe so far; but 
how you managed to go through it all, is a won- 
der. I’m very glad to see you, old fellow! But 
see here, Davy, my boy! is all right every way 
with you? There are great temptations in army 
life, and a man requires no end of courage to 
keep the Faith.” 

“I believe I have fought my way through 
without ever betraying that. Uncle Max, and I 
have acquired no bad habits, ’ ’ replied the young 
officer with a grave, sweet smile; “I put myself 
under the protection of our Blessed Lady, and 
have always worn her image as her true knight. ’ ’ 
He had never had any reserve with Uncle Max, 
and now opened his heart to him, as frankly as 
when he was a boy. 

“ That’s good news, the very best! I’m not a 
saint myself, but I’ve lived long enough to know 
that a firm grip on one’s faith, and what it 
teaches, is the very best safeguard a young fellow 
can have; it helps above all, to elevate and en- 
noble his character. But there’s another thin^ 


58 


WARP AND WOOF. 


I’d like to know. You haven’t gone and fallen 
in love, have you?” 

‘‘No, indeed!” answered Captain Dave, with 
a hearty laugh. “I’ve had no time. I was 
longer in New Orleans than anywhere else, after 
it was occupied by our troops, but it was like a 
‘ banquet hall deserted ’ by the beauty and bright- 
ness that once filled it; all had streamed away 
into the Confederate lines, when our guns were 
heard thundering along the river.” 

“Were you long there?” 

“Not quite a year. I got tired of inaction, 
and was transferred to Sherman’s army.” 

“How upon earth did you amuse yourself 
while^you did stay?” 

“I found enough to occupy my mind; every 
day something, either tragical or amusing, hap- 
pened. I explored the beautiful drives, the old 
cemeteries, and the quaint, narrow streets. The 
cathedral was not closed, and we had Mass every 
morning; and, now and then, I had curious ad- 
ventures. ’ ’ 

“New Orleans is a good place for that,” said 
Uncle Max, quietly. 

The servant came in, just then, to put on more 
coal, remove the dishes, and light the sperm 
candles in the old-fashioned silver candelabra, 
which he placed on the table with cigars, 
matches, and the evening papers, and retired. 

“ I detest gas,” said Uncle Max, “it’s such a 
symbol of the glare and unwholesomeness of 


WARP AND WOOF. 


59 


what we know as modern progress. Light a 
cigar, Davy, and let me hear something about 
your adventures. ’ ’ 

“They’re hardly worth repeating, sir; little, 
trifling affairs, that helped to while a few hours 
away by the momentary interest they excited, 
except one, which was connected with a strange 
old Spanish house, in what is known as the 
Spanish quarter — not that any Spaniards live 
there, but because it was built ages ago by aii 
old fellow who had large grants of land on both 
sides of the river, from his sovereign, the King 
of Spain. It dates before the time the French 
and Spanish began their squabbles about the 
boundary line.” 

“Yes; the old Del Alaya house: I remember it 
well. I went all over it once, and my visit gave 
a strange turning-point to my life. Anything 
about it will be of great interest to me,” said 
Uncle Max, whose countenance expressed both 
curiosity and emotion. 

‘ ‘ I had noticed the old house once or twice on 
passing it to attend to some military duty, which 
left me only time to wonder why it was wailed 
up in that sort of style, but I thought no more 
about it, until one day I was returning from the 
picket line where I had been on duty all night, 
and I took the street it stands on as a short cut 
to my quarters, when, as I approached, I heard 
a shrill, prolonged shriek — a woman’s voice as 
if in extreme terror. I halted and looked around. 


6o 


WARP AND WOOF. 


To my surprise, I saw that the great gates in the 
wall were open. As I stood an instant longer, 
wondering where that shriek came from, another 
piercing and prolonged cry rang out; and, di- 
rected by the sound, without a thought of what 
I might be running my head into, I dashed up 
the old, rickety steps, through the gates, and 
found myself in the grounds, staring blankly 
around; for everything was as quiet as a ne- 
glected graveyard, and as overgrown with every 
imaginable sort of shrubbery, vine, and young 
tree — a perfect jungle, impossible to penetrate. 
I determined to remain a moment or two longer, 
then hurry to my breakfast if there should be no 
repetition of those sounds of terror and distress. 
I had not long to wait. Another outcry, like the 
shriek of a maniac, broke the silence. Whatever 
outrage or crime was being perpetrated, it was 
within that closed-up, mysterious-looking old 
house. I lost no time in getting to the hall door, 
and pounding the knocker until I heard its 
echoes thundering along the silent walls; but no 
one answered. The shrieks became wilder and 
more frequent. I ran round towards the rear, 
and saw an open side-door, leading into a passage 
way, which connected the main building with 
the offices. I had my revolver and sword, but I 
really did not think of either at the moment, I 
was so excited. I ran into the house, and, guided 
by the shrieks, after no end of turnings and 
windings I came to a door, under a staircase, 


WARP AND WOOF. 


6i 


frcm which a steep flight of shjiie steps led 
into what appeared to be a cellar, but was in re- 
ality a huge stone basement, with narrow grated 
windows just under the ceiling. I leaned for- 
ward and listened, for the cries had suddenly 
ceased; and I was just in the act of turning away, 
when a shuddering, unearthly scream, that seemed 
to penetrate my very marrow, arose from the 
black depth below. I was seized with a sort of 
panic, and thought only of escaping from the 
spot, but I had retreated only a few steps, when 
more manly impulses prevailed, and whispering 
a ‘ Hail Mary ’ I went back, and plunging down 
the steps saw by the dim light that filtered 
through the cobwebbed iron gratings over the 
narrow windows, a sight that chilled my blood 
with horror. A frightful old negress, her white 
wool standing in a bush all over her head, sat 
upon the stone floor, supporting against her 
breast the head of a young man, whose closed 
eyes, pallid features, and motionless limbs, 
showed every appearance of death, while the 
blood that stained the woman’s breast and gar- 
ments, and his linen, told me that a deed of vio- 
lence had been committed.” 

‘ ‘ Old Chapita, ’ ’ said Mr. Ashton. 

“ Yes; that was her name, I heard afterwards; 
but she could not speak English except a few 
words, and no French. All she had at command 
was in intolerable gibberish that was perfectly 
unintelligible, which she poured out in torrents 


6a 


WARP AND WOOF. 


of wliat might have been words, but the only 
thing I could at all make out was a name, the 
name of I^eonce, which she repeated over and 
over again, looking down every time into the 
beautiful marble face that lay so unmoved and 
silent upon her breast. With one hand she 
turned his head very tenderly, and just far enough 
for me to see a frightful wound near the back of 
it, above the ear, on the right side. I felt his 
pulse, and his heart, and after some little time 
discovered a faint pulsation. I drew out my 
flask and let some drops of brandy trickle into 
his throat; in a few minutes the white lips quiv- 
ered, there was a slight gasp, his eyes opened, but 
they were dull and heavy, without the slightest 
sign of intelligence or recognition. I could have 
sworn that I saw this very man not an hour be- 
fore on board our mail-boat, just as she steamed 
away from the landing, where I had been on 
guard all night. If this was he, how did he get 
here ? It was impossible — for did I not see him 
carried off in the mail-boat which steamed 
straight down the river, without stopping at any 
other point in the city? It was the most extra- 
ordinary likeness I ever saw. I was attracted by 
the wonderfully classic beauty of his face, and his 
distinguished air, which made him conspicuous 
among the people of all sorts and complexions 
that crowded the landing. Who was he, and 
v^ho was this? Had I been a German, I should 
have concluded that he was the ‘ double ’ of the 


WARP AND WOOF. 


63 

poor fellow lying here nearly murdeied. There 
was no time for speculation. I hastened away 
to fetch our surgeon, making the old woman un- 
derstand by signs that I was coming back with 
help. I left her crooning her gibberish over him, 
in tender, lullaby tones, as she chafed his hands, 
and so found her when Doctor Spencer, accom- 
panied by two of our men, strong Irishmen, and 
myself, returned in an ambulance, with bandages, 
lint, medicines and a stretcher. The doctor, after 
hearing what I could tell him of the case, had 
gathered up and brought everything, including 
wine and brandy, that he thought would be 
needed. As quickly as willing hearts and strong 
hands could do it, the poor young fellow was re- 
moved, under the guidance of Chapita, to a large, 
richly-furnished bedroom up stairs, where his 
wound was examined and attended to as care- 
fully as could then be done. Two or three of 
our most skilful surgeons, by Doctor Spencer’s 
request, met him in consultation, and were in 
daily attendance with him on the case ; but while 
there was no inflammation, and the patient’s 
physical condition perceptibly improved, mind, 
memory and consciousness remained a dead 
blank. Our general took great interest in the 
affair, having been a distinguished criminal law- 
yer before the war, and under his instructions a 
strict investigation was instituted, but nothing 
could be asceitained to clear up the mystery of 
the crime. The factor of the estate was nowhere 


WARP AND WOOI^. 


64 

to be found, but an old African, who had strag- 
gled into our lines — a real old Congo native — 
was suddenly thought of by some one who had 
noticed him lounging about in the sunshine, and 
it was suggested that he, perhaps, would be able 
to understand Chapita’s lingo. He was forthwith 
hunted up, and acted as our interpreter. But 
Chapita was wary and suspicious. She evidently 
put no trust in ‘ niggers, ’ and it would have been 
diverting to see her airs and scowls and flirts, 
when she understood what the poor old contra- 
band was brought there for. He understood 
what she said, and she understood him; it was 
the same jargon, that sounded like a big coffee- 
mill grinding, and set one’s teeth on edge to hear 
it. It was only, however, after our repeated as- 
surances that whatever she told us should bring 
no harm to Leonce, and that we only wanted a 
clew to find out and punish the miscreant who 
had sought his life, that she was induced to give 
us the meagre facts in her possession. ‘ lyconce, ’ 
she said, ‘was the son and heir of Monsieur de 
Moret, who went away soon after his wife’s 
death. He lived in Paris. He came back to 
New Orleans sometimes, but always left the boys 
at school over there. They never came until 
after he died, and Leonce, the heir, along with 
Eugene, his brother.’ Here Chapita, with a 
grimace of utter disgust, paused, and her eyes 
sparkled with deadly hate. 

“‘But,’ we asked, ‘had Monsieur de Moret 
two sons?’ She nodded her head. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


65 

‘‘ ‘Only one, I^eonce, was Madame’s cliild, tlie 
other — ’ again she made a grimace of expressive 
contempt. ‘It was that kill her, my Lilly Missus, ’ 
she went on to tell us through our contraband. 
Not another word could we get out of her on 
this point; we could only guess. Seeing it was 
hopeless to try and get her to tell us anything 
she felt bound to withhold, we did not urge it, 
but bade her go on. The fiery passion had died 
away out of her eyes, leaving a sort of dumb 
grief behind, which changed their whole expres- 
sion. 

‘ ‘ ‘ One week ago, ’ she said, ‘ tell the Linkum 
sojers, you^ one week ago, they come, Leonce to 
his inheritance, and the other one, Eugene, 
along with him. An’ you’d thought they was 
children of the same mother, they was so much 
alike, and loved each other so. But yesterday 
they had high words. I heard them, but couldn’ f 
understand what they said. It was outlandish 
talk, an’ I couldn’t make it out. I didn’t see 
Eugene any more, nor Leonce till I went down 
the cellar next mornin’ to look for my cat, and 
there he was, jest like she said, putting her 
claw-like fingers on my arm, ‘found him.’ All 
at once I recollected the handsome stranger I saw 
on the landing, who went away in the mail-boat, 
and how I was struck by the great resemblance 
between the wounded man and himself. It was 
no doubt, Eugene, flying from the consequences 
of his crime, if crime it was. We could not tel] ; 

3 


66 


WARP AND WOOF. 


there might have been foul play, but there was 
no proof. The wine closet was in the cellar, and 
Leonce might have started to go down to bring up 
a bottle of some favorite vintage, and, missing a 
step, or catching his heel on the edge of one, .ost 
his balance, and fallen headlong over the side, 
which had no railing or other protection, in 
which case the wound in his head was easily ex- 
plained. His wallet, filled with notes, and cer- 
tain papers of high value, was in the breast-pocket 
of his coat; his costly watch and large diamond 
cuff-buttons remained undisturbed; whatever, 
then, may have been the motif of the crime, if 
crime it was, it was not plunder. However, 
Teonce de Moret lived on from day to day, but 
consciousness did not return as he grew better, 
nor did he speak ; the faculty of speech seemed 
gone. He was one of the handsomest fellows 
I ever saw. Our general had a guard stationed 
on the premises, and old Chapita took care to 
double-lock every door in the house, and con- 
veniently lose the keys. Some of us were very 
curious to have a peep into those closed apart* 
ments, judging from the little we saw outside 
of them that they were well worth investiga- 
tion; but there was no way by which our de- 
sire could be gratified except violence, and as 
we were not the marauders and robbers we have 
been represented to be, we gave it up. I was 
transferred about this time, with several others, 
to General Sherman’s command; but I heard 


WARP AND WOOF. 


67 

some time afterwards that the surgeons who 
had attended I^eonce de Moret, and were 
deeply interested in his case, had sent him to 
New York, in charge of one of their number 
whose term of service had expired, to place him 
under the care of Doctor Brown-Sequard, a cele- 
brated French surgeon who was spending a few 
months in that city. There was no one to inter- 
fere with the plan, and his wallet contained 
greenbacks and papers of large money value, 
much more than would be needed for his ex- 
penses. I heard also that the quaint old Span- 
ish house had been restored to the care of Mon- 
sieur de Moret’ s factor, who, after the first panic 
caused by the occupation of the city by the Fed- 
eral troops had subsided, , returned, and after re- 
presenting his case satisfactorily at headquarters, 
the property had been restored unconditionally to 
his guardianship.” 

‘ ‘ It was a remarkable affair, ’ ’ said Mr. Ash- 
ton, knocking the white ashes from the end of 
his cigar with his finger, and speaking slowly. 
‘ ‘ I believe there was crime under it. What did 
the factor say? ” 

‘ ‘ I have never heard. Sometimes I think it 
was crime and not accident that has doomed that 
fine young fellow to a ‘ death-in-life’ sort of exis- 
tence. Old Chapita said he and his brother came 
together, but if so, uo one saw the latter, or a 
trace of him, unless the fellow I saw get cn the 
mail-boat that morning was he. I guess she was 


68 


WARP AND WOOF. 


half beside herself, and talked wildly. I forgot to 
mention something else a friend wrote me. He 
said that the factor was as much at sea about the 
affair as any one; he had not seen M. de Moret’s 
sons since their earliest childhood, and could 
not on his oath say whether the wounded man 
was the true heir, or the other son. His likeness 
to his father’s portrait was remarkable, but that 
did not meet the question; for once, when the 
lads were about eighteen years old. Monsieur de 
Moret, on one of his visits home, had shown him 
their photographs, and they were enough alike 
to be twins, and both the image of their father. 

‘ This unfortunate young man may be lyconce, 
or he may be Eugene; I could not swear. As to 
Chapita, she knows no more than I do. She 
never saw either of the children after Monsieur 
de Moret took them away. She’s half crazy, I 
think,’ the factor added. I believe now I have 
told you everything; the old factor’s opinion (I 
had entirely forgotten it) only deepens the mys- 
tery,” remarked Captain Dave. 

“ How strangely, what you have told me re- 
vives my recollections of the old house of Del 
Alaya! I visited it years ago, and wrote a de- 
scription of the impressions I received in my 
iournal, which I’ll read to you, if you care to 
hear it — well, presently. I was a wild fellow, 
devoted to the pleasures of the world, as 
men weigh them, and had quite shaken off 
the restraints imposed by the practices of 


WARP AND WOOF. 


69 

our holy Faith. I was just drifting into 
the sophistries of Kant, whose works, in my 
love for philosophical research, I was de- 
vouring. I had studied Spinoza, and some of 
the lesser lights of infidelity, and, without know- 
ing it, my faith was undermined; my will, only 
too glad of license, involuntarily delighted in 
what I then thought broad, rational, liberal 
teachings, worthy of the true dignity of man. I 
never entered a church. Sometimes, in memory 
of my mother’s love, I said an Ave^ that was all. 
But in the old Del Alaya house I was suddenly 
confronted with a wonderful painting, one of 
Raphael’s inspired canvases, the ‘Madonna del 
Spasimo,’ which, in an instant, tore away the 
veil from my heart and revived my dying faith. 
As I gazed upon it, the edifice of false, infidel 
opinions I had built up, crumbled to very dust 
in the presence of those immense sufferings, 
which were represented with such realistic art, 
that I trembled, as I gazed, at the thought of 
their having been borne for me — yes, for me! I 
was overwhelmed by my ingratitude, my faith- 
less betrayal of a divine trust, my sins! By the 
mercy of God, my mad career was arrested, and 
I lost no time in seeking reconciliation with Him 
through the divine Sacraments, resolved to re- 
trace my steps and atone, by a life of penitence, 
for my sin. You see, Davy, I am turning m}- 
heart inside out to you, old fellow, thinking it 
may help you to avoid the like pitfalls, should 


70 


WARP AND WOO^. 


you be so tempted. Since then I have lived as 
now; your mother and the rest of them rate me 
soundly for my eccentricities; my best friends 
say I’m a crusty old bachelor, and that my ex- 
cuse is ‘a disappointment in love,’ which is their 
mistake. They bring every art their wit and in- 
genuity can invent to rout me out of my her- 
mitage here, but I am satisfied to let them enjoy 
their own opinion, and pursue my object without 
revealing it. One of these days I shall astonish 
them. It’s very pleasant to have you to talk to, 
Davy,” said Uncle Max, whose eyes rested with 
proud affection on the manly countenance of his 
nephew, who was greatly touched by the confi- 
dence reposed in him. Mr. Ashton unlocked 
his desk and took a roll of manuscript out of a 
drawer, then, having resumed his chair, he 
opened it, and read aloud the description of his 
visit to the Del Alaya house, with which we are 
already acquainted. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


71 


CHAPTER VI. 

ROSK-MARIB. 

Captain War.ner and Gerty — she very proud 
of her brave, handsome brother — ^went to Rose- 
Marie’ s matinee-dansante^ as they had promised, 
and found the large drawing-rooms thronged 
with the fashion and beauty of society — that is, 
the younger portion of it, for only unmarried 
persons had been invited. The army and navy 
were represented by a sprinkling of young offi 
cers, stationed at the capital and at the navy- 
yard; civil life, by exquisites whose time vibrated 
between the clubs, social enjoyments, and other 
pleasures common to their class; the jeunesse- 
doree of the various legations were in full 
force, with their pleasant airs and graces, im- 
pressing the imagination with a flavor of foreign 
courts, and inspiring all sorts of dreamy romances 
in the minds of youthful debutantes. 

The Warners could not at first reach Rose- 
Marie, on account of the crowd ; but Captain 
Dave, his head towering above every one else’s, 
had her in full view, as she stood just within the 
drawing-room door, receiving in a graceful, 
genial way, which made each one of her guests 
feel that he, or she, was the specially favored 


72 


WARP AND WOOF. 


one, as she greeted them with pleasant words, 
and many ripples of laughter, by way of empha- 
sizing her welcome. The air was full of a sub- 
dued, yet glad sound of voices, which mingled 
pleasantly with strains of music from the ball- 
room, where the dancing had already begun, and 
towards which every one was hastening. How 
lovely the young hostess looked in her dress of 
pale blue, with filmy lace falling in diaphanous 
folds over the rich silk; her ornaments rare 
opals, which fastened her soft sheeny hair, en- 
circled her throat, drooped from her small ears, 
and wound themselves about her fair, rounded 
arms, their imprisoned fires flashing and glowing 
with every movement. She had been often told 
that there was a fatality about opals, that they 
were stones of ill-omen; but ‘it was like the per- 
versity of her nature to like them all the better 
on account of the superstition attached to them. 
A fashionable old woman, who had grown wise, 
as well as gray in the service of the world, and 
who had heard the opals talked of, whispered in 
her ear one evening at a ball : ‘ ‘ Don’ t mind what 
they say about your jewels, for it is all envy, my 
dear, sheer envy. Wear them all the same — they 
are magnificent! — and enjoy the rage it puts them 
in to know they are yours, and not theirs.” 
Rose-Marie laughed, and from that hour her 
opals found new value in her eyes. Not that she 
was in the least ill-natured, but she enjoyed 
keenly a little spiciness mixed with the common- 


WARP AND WOOF. 73 

place of existence, to prevent its growing flat, 
and drearily monotonous. 

But the arrivals that had preceded the War- 
ners and blocked their way had moved on, and 
Rose-Marie caught sight of them as they came 
towards her. She stepped forward to meet them, 
both hands extended, and her face dimpling with 
smiles of welcome. 

“I was afraid you were not coming,” she said. 
“I am so delighted, Gerty! — you look like a pic- 
ture, in that love of a bonnet! You must tell 
me the name of your milliner, for I’ve seen 
nothing half so pretty this winter. ’ ’ 

“I’ll tell you with pleasure,” said Gerty, 
laughing, as she leaned forward a little, and 
whispered : ‘ ‘ myself. ’ ’ 

“Tell it not in Gath!” exclaimed Rose-Marie; 
“I thought it must be fresh from Paris. Ah! 
here is my cousin, Mr. George Eaton, from New 
York. How dy’e do? Allow me to introduce 
Mr. Eaton to you. Miss Warner. Be sure you 
make yourself agreeable, George, for she’s the 
dearest friend I have in the world. ’ ’ 

He bowed, smiled, promised, and invited Miss 
Warner to go see the dancers, which she was 
glad to do, for, although she did not care to 
dance herself, she liked to watch the poetry of 
motion, as it gracefully kept time with delicious 
music, the pretty faces flitting by, the variety of 
coloring and shades in the dresses, all forming 
together a complete harmony of sound move- 


74 


WARP AND WOOI^. 


ment, and tint. As Gerty and Mr. Eaton walked 
away, Rose-Marie said: “Oh, Davy! why didn’t 
you come sooner? If you had only come just a 
little sooner, you would have seen him; he’s just 
gone — ^had another engagement. Wasn’ t it good 
of him, though, to run in for a moment? Oh, I 
was so provoked that he had to go! ” 

“Who? what?” asked Captain Warner, mis- 
chief twinkling in his eyes, yet half bewildered 
at her vague speech. 

‘ ‘ That lovely foreigner I promised you should 
see, you know. Oh, I’m so sorry!” 

“Not for me, I hope, for I really think I shall 
be able to survive it. In case I should faint or 
anything, have you any smelling-salts handy?” 
he answered, gravely. 

A saucy rejoinder was on her lips, but at the 
instant a fresh arrival of guests claimed her at- 
tention — two pretty young debutantes and a gen- 
tleman, who, having received her graceful wel- 
come, and being placed quite at ease by her 
pretty little speeches, passed on towards a group 
of friends they had recognized at the other end 
of the room. 

“I should have introduced you, Davy — is it 
quite right for me to call you so? I always used 
to, you know.” 

“Yes, of course. I like it,” he answered 
heartily. 

“Well, I should have introduced you to those 
pretty girls, but I mean you to stay here until I 


WARP AND WOOF. 


75 


can leave my post. Perhaps there’ll be no more 
arrivals, but I’m not sure. I shall be able to get 
to the ball-room presently, and I intend that you 
shall waltz with me first thing. ’ ’ 

“Waltz ! Really ! Do you waltz ? ’ ’ 

“Do I waltz? Of course I do. How could 1 
exist without waltzing?” she asked, in pretty 
amaze. 

“Oh! is that so? I only thought the Church 
had tabooed that sort of dance. ’ ’ 

“That’s all nonsense. The Church has said 
nothing about it. It’s only some of the clergy 
who have made a fuss about it. I don’t scruple 
about waltzing one bit, therefore I don’t take it 
to confession. If I thought it were a sin, I 
would; but I don’t. And then you know it’s 
such fun,” she rattled on. 

‘ ‘ Oh 1 And so you enjoy it ? ” 

''''Immensely ! Come, there’s my favorite 
Strauss; it is perfectly irresistible!” 

“But see here — upon my honor I don’t know 
how to waltz, ’ ’ he interrupted, really frightened 
at the prospect of making a spectacle of himself. 

“Not know how to waltz, Davy! I must say 
your education has been awfully neglected,” 
said Rose-Marie, opening her beautiful eyes to 
their widest extent. ‘ ‘ But I don’ t believe you. ’ ’ 
“It is a fact. For pity’s sake don’t insist on 
my making a fool of myself, by attempting what 
will only end in failure,” he pleaded. 

“Come, Davy, a few steps will set you all 


WARP AND WOOF. 


76 

right. Of course you’ll be just a little awkward 
at first, but that’s nothing. It’s considered dis- 
tingue to be awkward in dancing; it attracts 
attention, it makes one seem indifferent to every- 
one else’s opinion; it is quite the thing, I assure 
you, so come on.” 

‘ ‘But I suppose, ’ ’ said the young officer, pushed 
to the last extremity, his face flushing up to his 
temples, ‘ ‘ I suppose if a fellow has had his leg 
splintered by a ball, and has not quite got over 
it, it will go for something of an excuse. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Is that true, Davy ? How delightful ! I didn’ t 
know you had been wounded. Well, I’ll have to 
let you ofif from waltzing, then, but you’ll have 
to limp, just a little bit, you know, to let every- 
body know I’ve got a hero on my hands,” said 
she, with a bewitching smile. 

“I want to tell you something, Rose-Marie,” 
he answered, fixing his serious eyes upon her; 
“my broken leg is certainly a good excuse; but 
upon my honor, even had I not met with such an 
accident, I would not waltz or attempt to learn, 
to please any one. ’ ’ 

“And why, pray?” she asked, in pretty won- 
der. 

‘ ‘ Because I hold the virtuous of your sex in 
such reverence, ’ ’ he said, in a low tone. 

“A modem Roland!” she said, with a grace- 
ful courtesy ; but the words sunk into her heart. 
She was frivolous, but not as much so as she 
seemed. The religious education she had re* 


WARP AND WOOF. 


77 


''eived at lier convent-school, the priiiciples of 
her faith which had been planted and cherished 
there, were not yet quite choked up with weeds ; 
the germs were struggling for life, it is true, but 
were not yet extinguished by the insidious, 
deadly miasms of the world. In her heart there 
were chords not yet rusted, however they might 
be out of tune, and these, when touched, some- 
times gave forth the true ring, as now. How- 
ever she might appear to mock, those words 
would come back to her, and compel her atten- 
tion, until their signification would some day 
become plain to her. 

“I think now I shall bid you good-bye,” he 
said: “I will see Gerty first, and tell her the 
carriage will wait. I hope you are not offended, 
though?” 

“No, don’t go, Davy; I’ll be good and won’t 
tease any more. Don’t you think you’d be able 
to dance the Virginia reel, though? I always 
have it at the very end, you know; it is so jolly. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I can try — if you insist, ’ ’ he answered, wish- 
ing himself away. 

“You are a bear, Davy!” she pouted. 

“I believe I am, Rose-Marie. I’m only fit foi 
camp life.” 

“I shall take you in hand, then. But it is so 
evident that 3 ou hate dancing. I’ll let you off 011 
one condition, entirely. It is that you and Gerty 
stay after the others go away. ’ ’ 

“I shall be most happy to do so; Gerty will 


WARP AND WOOP. 


78 

too, I’m sure,” said Captain Warner, in liis usual 
pleasant tones, all the clouds gone from his eyes 
and countenance. 

“Very well, that’s settled. I will sing for 
you, besides giving you a cup of tea. But come 
and be introduced to those pretty belles over 
there, who have been signalling to me, for the 
last ten minutes, to bring you over; then I shall 
have to go about among my friends to see how 
they are enjoying themselves, and if they have 
been attended to in the supper-room, then I 
shall — waltz. ’ ’ She had been moving across the 
spacious room with him, as she was saying this, 
towards the young ladies who smilingly waited 
their approach; she introduced him in her own 
charming style, said a few pleasant words, and 
left them to see after her other guests. 

Captain Warner wondered what on earth he 
should find to say to two fashionable young la- 
dies, who looked so perfectly versed in the ways 
of the world, and who, doubtless, had all the 
small talk of society at their command; and 
what on earth would they find to say to him ? 
But it was not many minutes before he was quite 
at his ease; they did most of the talking, and 
their style of conversation did not require much 
mental effort on his part to keep it up. Other 
people joined the group; he was introduced, and 
in the general chat that ensued, he found, to his 
surprise, that he was really having a pleasant 
time. Meanti^ne Gerty had met friends and en- 


WARP AND WOOF. 


79 


joyed herself; and she had danced the Lancers 
with Mr. Baton, and between the round dances 
had promenaded and chatted with one and an- 
other, until the close of the entertainment, think- 
ing it was the most agreeable evening she had 
spent in a long time. At length every one had 
gone, except the Warners, and when the hall- 
door closed finally, Rose-Marie, taking them by 
the hand, led them into her boudoir^ where a 
bright fire sparkled on the hearth, and where 
luxurious fauteuils^ and deep, satin-cushioned 
sofas offered every incentive to lounge, or think, 
or dream waking dreams, at one’s ease. Grow- 
ing and blooming plants filled the bay-window, 
diffusing faint and delicate odors, and several 
fine paintings adorned the walls; there stood a 
harp, and here an open piano with keys of 
mother-of-pearl, in keeping with the other ele- 
gant appliances of the apartment. There were 
portfolios of water-colored engravings, rare and 
quaint groups of bric-a-brac, and other attrac- 
tive objects about the room, sufficient to interest 
any mind not disposed to ennui^ and lit up by 
the wood fire and wax candles, as a whole, the 
effect was very charming. 

“Just make yourselves at home, please, while 
I run and order a regular tea; one’s appetite fails 
in a supper-room, when the scramble begins, and 
the fumes of everything get mixed,” laughed 
Rose-Marie, as she flitted out. 

“ Her dainty appetite may be affected by such 


8o 


WARP AND WOOF. 


lliings,” said Captain Warner, laughing; “n 
as for others — tell me, Gerty, do girls alwa3'’S eat 
at these places as they did to-night, and is it 
usual for them to take punch and champagne so 
freely ? By George! I don’t see how their heads 
could stand it.” 

‘ ‘ Don’ t be ill-natured, Davy 1 ’ ’ answered Gerty ; 
“why shouldn’t girls eat when they’re hungry? 
You must remember they had been dancing a 
great deal, and it was just about their dinner 
hour; I like to see people with good, honest ap- 
petites. ’ ’ 

“But about the wine and punch, Gerty” — 
persisted her brother. But Rose-Marie came in 
just then, giving a quietus to his investigating 
mind for the time being. 

They enjoyed the piquant little feast that Rose- 
Marie called a “tea,” and could not help laugh- 
ing at the sketchy accounts she gave of some of 
her late guests; some of them inimitably absurd 
caricatures, others made so true to life by her 
mimicry, and quick, keen perception of charac- 
ter, that they were recognized immediately. 
This was one of her talents, but she had tact 
enough to keep it “folded in a napkin,” out of 
sight, knowing that her popularity as a social 
favorite would suffer by an exhibition of it, even 
among her intimates; for it is true beyond ques- 
tion that while persons may forgive and forget a 
personal affront, they never pardon ridicule, 
which proves how deeply pride and vanity are 
grounded in our natures. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


8l 


“When will my turn come?” asked Captain 
Warner. 

“When I’m in the mood for it. Don’t flatter 
yourself that you’ll escape,” she answered, with 
a little ripple of laughter, which was so musical 
and attractive that some of her friends declared 
it to be a pretty piece of affectation. “ But, O, 
Gerty, you don’t know how nice it is to have 
yon and Davy here, just so! You’d be sorry for 
me if you knew how lonesome this old house feels 
after this sort of gayety; and when I come from 
the world outside, it is as dismal as a haunted 
castle. But come, I’m going to sing for Davy; I 
promised him I would, if you’d both stay. Did 
you know, they say I sing like Patti ? ’ ’ she said 
to him, as she sat down to the piano, her face to- 
wards them, and ran her fingers over the keys. 
“What shall I sing?” 

“Your choice, first,” answered the young of- 
ficer. 

“My taste is very simple. I love Scotch 
music, and I’m going to sing you a Scotch 
song. ’ ’ And after a few sweet, wild chords, her 
face dimpling with smiles, she sang, in the 
sweetest, clearest soprano voice he ‘had ever lis- 
tened to: “Down the burn, Davie,” and, with 
a nod now and then, and a bright smile, as she 
glanced towards him, she sang on, until Captain 
Warner’s head began to go round a little, and he 
wondered if the Dorelei’s voice sounded so to 
the fishermen on the Rhine, when she was weav- 


S2 


WARP AND WOOF. 


ing the spells that drew them nearer and nearei 
to their doom. 

“What an arrant flirt she is, and so child-like 
and beautiful with it all! Davy, my boy, look 
out for yourself,” thought he, even while ac- 
knowledging the power of her charms. 

“Isn’t that a beautiful song? I learned it for 
the sake of ‘auld lang syne,’ when I thought 
you were going to be killed,” she said, laugh- 
ing; “but listen to this — ” Then she dashed 
off into “Z<2 de/le Helene^'''' the piquant French 
music, the saucy French words, rendered so brill- 
iant by her execution, and wonderful voice, that 
Captain Dave felt as if he had witnessed a splen- 
did pyrotechnic display. 

“I think, sometimes,” she said, leaving the 
piano, “that I might go on the stage. Do 
you ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, I think you’d be a great success.” 

“You do? Well! that, or a convent,” she 
sighed, dropping her hands in her lap with a 
despondent air. 

He burst out laughing. Gerty could not 
laugh, and wondered what Davy found so ex- 
tremely funiiy. She saw her friend, whom she 
had loved dearly ever since they were little chil- 
dren, in a new phase of character which she 
could not altogether understand; she only knew 
that it did not seem real, and it was her firm 
conviction that she meant to flirt with Davy, and 
break his heart if she could. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


83 

“Should you ever go into a convent, Rose- 
Marie, you’ll make a sensation that it will take 
some time for the pious inmates to recover 
from,” he said. “ But we must say good-night, 
and thanks for this delightful evening. I see, 
Gerty is thinking of mother. ’ ’ 

“Yes; we always sit with her a while before 
she retires; she likes to hear the history of the 
day from us, and quite enjoys a description of 
any social pleasures we may have. I think she 
will be disappointed if we get back too late to 
tell her how beautiful your party has been.” 

“Take her these, with my dear love, won’t 
you ? She was always so good to me when I was 
a poor little motherless thing,” said Rose- 
Marie, heaping some delicious grapes and flowers 
into a light filagree fruit-stand. “It is not 
heavy, and you have a carriage. ’ ’ 

Captain Warner received it from her hands, 
touched to the heart by her kind thought of his 
mother. Then their wraps were brought in, and 
with many pleasant words, and promises on both 
sides to see each other very soon, the Warners 
went away, and Rose-Marie was left alone. 

“Dave Warner has an awfully good conceit of 
himself, ’ ’ she mused, as she leaned back in a low 
fauteuil^ with her feet crossed on the fender, her 
opals glistening and glowing in the now fitful 
firelight, and all the prettiness of silk and laces 
falling unheeded around her; “and he sets me 
at defiance; I feel it, and I mean to make him 


WARP AND WOOF. 


84 

feel my power — just a little; I won’t go too far, 
though, he’s such a fine fellow — and I love 
Gerty. ’ ’ She sighed, as she got up to ring for 
her maid, and order the lights to be extinguished. 
Then she went up-stairs, with slow steps, paused 
a little while to lean over Don’s bed, kiss his 
round, rosy cheek, smooth back the tangled curls 
from his moist forehead, and tell the nurse to be 
sure and not let him get uncovered in the night; 
after which she entered her own room, which 
communicated with her baby brother’s, and clos- 
ing her door, took off her jewels and her costly 
dress, which she flung in a heap on a lounge, 
got into a soft woolen wrapper, and sat down to 
finish reading a French novel which had inter- 
ested her greatly. It was far in the night when 
she turned the last page; then she yawned, 
stretched out her arms in utter weariness, and 
dropped on her knees to say a few prayers, but 
fell asleep, her head resting upon her arm. 
Awakened, by-and-by, by the uncomfortableness 
of her position, she finally got into bed about 
day-dawn, her old convent rosary wrapped round 
her wrist, with a vague sort of feeling that the 
prayers it numbered might avail for her, now 
that she was too tired and sleepy to say them 
herself. 


WARP AND WOOP. 


85 


CHAPTER VII. 

PETER JONES. 

One day Mr. Warner came home so much ear- 
lier than usual, that the servant who opened the 
door for him said: “I hope you haven’t been 
took sick, sir?” - , 

“No, indeed, Rachel! I never felt better in 
my life, thank God! Where’s your young mis- 
tress?” 

“She’s just fixin’ Missis’ lunch, in the dinin’- 
room, sir.” 

“Tell her, when she gets through, that I want 
to speak to her; she’ll find me in the sitting- 
room. ’ ’ 

Rachel disappeared, and Mr. Warner, having 
taken off his overcoat, opened the door of the 
sitting-room, which, as usual, was bright and 
comfortable, and went in. He drew his favorite 
chair up to the fire, and, after seating himself, 
he drew a letter, with a foreign postmark on it, 
from his breast pocket, and was opening it, when 
Rachel put her head in at the door to say: “Miss 
Gerty will come just as quick as ever she can.” 

“Very well; tell her not to hurry. Where’s 
my son? is he in?” 

“No, sir: Mr. Ashton come for him, awhile 
ago, and took him off sleigh-ridin’.” 


86 


WARP AND WOOF. 


“That will do. I do wonder what ill wind 
blew Max Ashton out of his den to go sleighing, 
to-day,” he growled, after Rachel closed the 
door. Then he fixed his eye-glasses on his nose, 
and began to read the letter in his hand. He 
had read it twice before, in his office down town; 
it was from an old university friend, with whom 
he had studied and graduated at Gottingen, with 
whom he had corresponded at intervals ever 
since, neither of them writing frequently, but 
each always sure oi^ the other’s constancy. He 
wrote to ask his old friend, for the sake of that 
brotherly love between them, which had out- 
lived absence and time, to give a father’s wel- 
come to his son, who had just taken his degree 
at Oxford, where he had been studying evet 
since he was sixteen, and who wished, in accor- 
dance with his own views entirely, to spend two 
years in the United States, for purposes to be ex- 
plained in a longer letter which he would present. 
“Knowing yon so well,” the writer went on to 
say, “I confide him strictly to your guardianship 
and care; for, although he has arrived at the age 
of manhood, he has had none of a man’s exper- 
ience, and but slight knowledge of the world, 
having lived among books and devoted himself 
to study. I can answer for the purity of his 
principles and character, and I know he pos- 
sesses in himself the elements of a noble man- 
hood. Best, above all, my son is a Catholic who 
is true to his faith, untainted by the faithlessness 


WARP AND WOOF. 


87 

and infidelity of the times. His love of philoso- 
phic studies exposed him to dangers, which, by 
the grace of God, he has escaped, his mind, 
guided by the light of the true faith, having de- 
tected their fallacies, and seen through their 
subtleties. To give greater facility to our plan, 
I wish him to preserve a strict incognito, and 
live among you as an American, which can be 
easily managed, as he speaks English perfectly. 
His grandfather’s Christian name, and my own, 
will form together an honest name for him, Peter 
and John; let him be simply Peter Jones, the 
latter being derived from John; our family name 
would be in his way, there are so many foreigners 
in Washington who might recognize it, and 
thereby frustrate his intentions.” 

‘ ‘ It seems to have a flavor of romance about 
it,” thought Mr. Warner, looking into the fire; 
‘ ‘ but whatever the motive, I give assent, know- 
ing the honor and integrity of the man. I hope 
I shall be able to keep their secret; but Peter 
Jones is certainly not a very taking name.” Mr. 
Warner heard Gerty singing along the hall, and 
he had just time to refold his letter, and thrust 
it into his pocket, when she came in. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing the matter, 
father?” she said, as she leaned over and kissed 
him; “I was a little frightened when I heard 
you come in so early,” she added, drawing a low 
chair beside him, and taking her seat; and then 
she folded henarms upon his knees, and waited 


88 


WARP AND WOOF. 


“There’s nothing the matter^ daughter,” he 
said, smoothing her fair hair; “that is, nothing 
unpleasant has happened. I only wanted to 
know at once, if we can make room for a visitor, 
a gentleman, who will probably remain with us 
some time.” 

“Who is he?” asked the young housekeeper, 
gravely. 

“He is the son of an old and dear friend, 
daughter; he is coming to visit Washington, and 
doesn’t know a soul here, not even ourselves, 
personally. Just imagine Dave in such a fix.” 
This was the spirit that always ruled in con- 
ferences between father and daughter, on domes- 
tic matters. 

‘ ‘ A young man would be awfully in the way. 
I’m afraid,” said Gerty, in a musing tone; “he’d 
expect to be entertained, and if he should be one 
of those exquisites who think nothing good 
enough for them, it would be dreadful.” 

“You need not be at all uneasy; I take it, 
he’s a simple, unpretending fellow in his habits,” 
said Mr. Warner, laughing; “but let me know, 
daughter, if you can make room for him, as I’m 
in a hurry. ’ ’ 

“Oh, yes, indeed, father! there’s the blue 
room Uncle Max used to have, before he went 
abroad. Will that answer ? ’ ’ 

“Admirably! just the very thing, away from 
the noise of the streets, and of the house— for I 
forgot to tell you, the young man is a great stu- 


WARP AND WOOF. 


89 


dent. He will be here to-morrow. I’ll run up- 
now and talk it over with your mother; Dave 
will help us to take good care of our strange vis- 
itor,” said Mr. Warner, getting up from his 
chair. 

“Yes, I forgot Davy, bless his heart! But 
what’s your friend’s name, father?” 

“Peter Jones,” replied Mr. Warner, his face 
towards the door; but if Gerty had seen her 
father’s expression at the moment, she would 
have had a vague suspicion that he was holding 
something back about this young man, who, she 
was convinced, was coming there to be one of 
the daily trials of her life; but, happily, she saw 
neither the twinkle in his eyes, the flush that 
mounted to his face, nor his amused smile, as he 
pronounced the name of Peter Jones. Mr. War- 
ner was a man of such genuine and transparent 
truthfulness of character, that even this harmless 
little deception gave him, if not a half-guilty, 
at least a very conscious feeling, which involun- 
tarily showed itself. 

“Peter Jones!” exclaimed Gerty, folding her 
hands, as she stood an instant looking into the 
fire; “I’m sure no one need be afraid of a person 
named Peter Jones; I expect he’s one of those 
good-natured, simple youths, who are satisfied if 
they get plenty to eat, and are let alone. This 
name is very reassuring. ’ ’ Then she began to 
feel a little uneasy, lest having a strange young 
man in the family would annoy her mother; and 


90 


WARP AND WOOF. 


there was Uncle Max, who had such old-fash- 
ioned ideas of propriety! What would he think 
about it, knowing that her mother was confined 
to her room, and she with no one to matronize 
her? There was Davy, to be sure, but his leave 
would end in a few weeks; and as to her father, 
he was never at home, from breakfast to their 
late dinner hour, while his evenings were in- 
variably spent in Mrs. Warner’s sitting-room up- 
stairs. 

“But, pshaw! what the use of worrying my- 
self? Worse things than this, which I thought 
at first I could neither manage nor live through, 
have come into my life; but I accepted my cross, 
and went with my cares to our Blessed Uady, 
asking her guidance and protection, and little by 
little, I scarcely know how, I worked along, sor- 
rowful and dejected many times, it is true, but 
at the right moment my courage always revived. 
It is true I never had a Peter Jones to try my 
patience; but that reminds me that two facts are 
to be met — Peter Jones is coming, and his room 
is to be made ready for him.” Gerty went to 
her window plants, bent her fair face down 
among the sweet, pale, hyacinths, inhaled a long 
breath of perfume, picked off a dead leaf here 
and there from her geraniums, and began to 
hum a new air she was learning, a “song with- 
out words, ’ ’ almost forgetting for an instant her 
novel perplexity ; and when she did recollect it, 
and all she had to do to meet it, she turned away 


WARP AND WOOP. 


91 


from the flowers, whose sweet balms had soothed 
her ruffled temper, with a merry laugh, and 
hastened to summon Rachel, and superintend 
the arrangements for the expected guest. The 
“blue room” was a large, delightful apartment; 
the windows were hung with blue chintz, the 
old-fashioned furniture covered with the same, 
the carpet was also blue, covered with shady 
gray and white ferns, and there was an open fire- 
place with a pair of stately, old-fashioned brass 
andirons and a brass fender on the hearth, all 
shining like gold, thanks to Rachel’s old-fash- 
ioned way of polishing them. The high -post 
mahogany bedstead was prettily draped, to cor- 
respond with the window hangings, all the 
handiwork of the young housekeeper, who had 
designed and hung them. 

“Everything does very nicely, Rachel. Get 
out fresh linen for the bed, and a Marseilles 
spread, and those hem-stitched pillow-slips. I 
want you to send up wood and lay the fire all 
ready for kindling. I think, too, the brass-work 
on this old bureau looks dingy; you can polish it 
up; the thing is so ugly, it needs something to 
brighten it” — 

“ ’Deed, it do. Miss Gerty ; but who’s cornin’ ?” 

“A friend of father’s.” 

“A gineral. Miss Gerty, from the war?” 

“No, a Mr. Jones; make haste, Rachel, I’ll 
wait until everything’s in order.” 

Rachel went to attend to the orders she had re- 


92 


WARP AND WOOP. 


ceived, and Gerty looked round the room, and 
thought it had a bare, cold look; the prevailing 
color in it naturally produced that effect. Not 
even the colored Italian views, which “Uncle 
Max ’ ’ had given her mother years ago, hanging 
against the walls, sufficed to give it a warmer 
tone. Then she remembered some great clusters 
of holly, all aglow with the scarlet berries, which 
her father had sent home from market that 
morning — the very thing she wanted! She ran 
down stairs, and soon returned with a small 
basket, full of shining green and glowing red, 
which she picked out daintily enough to save 
her fingers from the thorns, and filled the vases 
on the mantelpiece; the effect was charming, the 
red berries lit up everything. ‘ ‘ And when the 
fire is burning brightly with its glow and warmth, 
I think Peter Jones will have a sort of home feel- 
ing as soon as he comes in, ’ ’ she thought. ‘ ‘ But 
I wonder if he’s a Catholic; I forgot to ask father. 
At any rate I’ll bring up that handsome en- 
graving of our Blessed Uady in Egypt, and 
hang it in the recess there by the window, 
right over the table, where he’ll put his 
ink-stand and write his letters. The sun 
will shine upon it every morning, and ii 
he’s a Catholic it will make him feel more at 
home; if he is not, it will give him good 
thoughts, and inform him that he’s in a Catholic 
family.” The handsomely-framed picture, a 
beautiful “Repoza,” of the holy family, was 


WARP AND WOOF. 


93 


fortliwitli liung as indicated, and with tender, 
devout thoughts, Gerty arranged some, clusters 
of holly about it. Some other pretty adorn- 
ments which this practical young housekeeper 
collected, and knew so well where and how to 
place, added greatly to the general effect. Rachel 
gave her approval by many exclamations of de- 
light, her African nature easily moved and highly 
satisfied by rich colors and harmonious effects. 
You’ll find no better critic in such matters than 
your genuine African, who never heard such a 
word as aesthetic. 

At last everything was arranged, and Gerty 
lingered to glance round to assure herself that 
nothing had been forgotten. She felt quite sat- 
isfied, and hoped that the lovely “Repoza” 
would give Peter Jones good thoughts whenever 
his eye fell upon it. “But, oh dear! suppose 
after all,” she said to herself, “he should turn 
out to be a nuisance.” Then she checked her- 
self, closed the door of the “blue room,” and 
ran down to her mother singing, in sweet low 
tones, the melody that haunted her, the “song 
without words, ’ ’ until she got to her door, where 
she stopped a moment, almost dreading to go in, 
lest she should find her with a flushed, worried 
face, from the news of the morning. And she 
had an undefined hope that her mother would 
herself refer to it. To her surprise, however, 
Mrs. Warner received her with a placid smile, 
and there was no sign of vexation or worry on 
her pale, delicate face.. 


94 


WAUP AND WOOF. 


“Have you finished, darling? Come sit here 
and tell me all you’ve been doing. I’ve heard 
from your father that he expects a visitor, and 
I am very thankful we shall be able to show 
some return for the great kindness he received 
once from the family of this young man, when 
he was ill in their neighborhood, many years 
ago, and a stranger in a strange place. ’ ’ 

“I did not hear anything of that, mother 
How was it ? ” 

“Your father and the father of Peter Jones 
were class-mates at some famous university, a 
long distance away — my memory is bad for 
names — and your father fell ill with a kind of 
low fever, of which he would probably have 
died, had not his friend, the father of the young 
man we expect, written immediately to his 
parents, who lived some miles off at their beau- 
tiful country place, to come, without loss of 
time, and take him back with them, where he 
could have pure air, and quiet, and be nursed 
back to health. They knew him, as he had 
been home with his friend, by invitation, twice 
for the holidays; and for their son’s sake first, 
and afterwards for his own, they had been very 
kind, and treated him quite like one of them- 
selves. Without counting danger or cost, they 
set out at once, and conveyed him by slow, easy 
stages, to the pure atmosphere of the high coun- 
try, where their home was situated, and there 
they nursed and tended him, through a tedious 


WARP AND WOOF. 


95 


illness, as if lie had been their own son. Did 
you ever hear of greater kindness, and to a 
stranger, too?” 

“I declare mother! you have thrown a per- 
fect aureole around Peter Jones’s head, which 
glorifies even his ugly name. Of course, we 
must be glad to have him, and spare no pains to 
make his visit agreeable. Gratitude demands 
that much. But I think we always have a sort 
of dread of a stranger being brought suddenly 
into such intimate relations — ignorant, as we are, 
of his temperament and habits, or whether he’s 
agreeable or disagreeable, good, bad or indiffer- 
ent. But I shall do my very best, mother, and 
hope to be agreeably disappointed in the result. ’ ’ 

“You’re a brave, dear girl! ” said Mrs. War- 
ner, drawing Gerty’s head to her bosom, with a 
tender caress. She was rarely demonstrative in 
her affection, and the young girl was touched 
and encouraged, feeling that it was very sweet 
to be thus commended by the mother she so ten- 
derly reverenced. 

“Don’t praise me, mother, until — well, until 
Peter Jones has been here a little while,” said 
Gerty, lifting her face, bright with smiles, to 
Mrs. Warner’s. “I may prove an ignominious 
failure, and have to run here and hide myself 
like a very coward, before it’s all over. But you 
ought just to see how lovely Rachel and I have 
made Uncle Max’s room look, with holly sprigs, 
and pictures, and a Rogers’ group — ‘Writing 


WARP AND WOOF. 


96 

Home ’ you know — and two or three other trifles, 
on brackets and tables. I hope he’ll like it.” 

“Of course he will — how can he help it? Yon 
make everything cosy and pretty, and it is, I as- 
sure you, a fine art to know how to do it. As to 
your failing, I have no fear of it, knowing, my 
child, the motive of your actions. ’ ’ 

“Mother,” said the fair girl, lifting her moth- 
er’s long delicate hand and leaning her cheek 
upon it; “God has been very good in sparing 
you and Davy, and bringing father through his 
troubles; and I mean to show my thankfulness 
by being cheerful, and brave, and hopeful under 
all circumstances. I hope I have learned to 
trust Him in all things, in shadow as well as 
sunshine, to the very end. By and by, when 
you get well, and the war is over, and Davy is 
home again, I shall have nothing on earth left 
to wish for. ’ ’ 

“Do you ever think, daughter, that some- 
thing may come into your life one day, to give 
you much to wish and hope for that you do not 
dream of now?” 

‘ ‘ Perhaps. But I always drive such thoughts 
away. I am content; I know what you mean, I 
think, mother; a lover, I suppose. If so, I pray 
to be saved from an experience which, if all I 
hear and read is true, is a very disturbing ele- 
ment in one's life — weal to a few, and woe to 
many. The happiness of my home-life is enough, 
and I have no thought of any other,” she said, 


WARP AND WOOF. 


97 


talking on rather as if she were thinking aloud 
than addressing a listener. “My futuie is in the 
hands of our All-Father — why should I disturb 
myself with vain imaginations?” 

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes; then 
Gerty, shaking off her thoughtful mood, in 
which her mother had caught glimpses of her 
inner life never revealed before, rose up, her 
face wearing its wonted cheerful expression, and 
said: 

“If you are sure that you are well enough, 
dear mother, to spare me an hour or two, I want 
to go out. I have attended to everything, I be- 
lieve. ’ ’ 

“Certainly, my dear; I shall be delighted to 
have you go. ’ ’ 

“I should too, if it were for a walk this cold 
bright day; but I promised Rose-Marie to make 
some calls with her on people who have invited 
me to their parties this winter. I like to visit 
my friends, but I detest making calls. Dave 
has promised to go with us; it makes me very 
proud to see him admired and made much of, 
especially by the older officers we meet out; but 
do you know, mother, that Rose-Marie is try- 
ing her best to get up a flirtation with him? I 
own I should feel uneasy, if he didn’t laugh 
at it, and say some very plain things to her 
sometimes. ’ ’ 

“Poor little girl!” said Mrs. Warner; “she 
means no harm, but she’s sadly in need of a 
4 


WARP AND WOOF. 


98 

friend wlio will neither flatter nor encourage her 
in her follies. I have no fears for Davy. ’ ’ 

“I wonder she don’t get angry with him some- 
times, for he tells her exactly what he thinks; 
not that he’s rude, or attempts to snub her — ^he’s 
too well bred a gentleman to do that — ^but he 
talks tc her just as he would to me under the 
same circumstances, and she goes on all the same. 
Now I must go, mother. Good-bye until dinner- 
time, for I have to array myself in my ‘purple 
and fine linen,’ and don’t want to keep them 
waiting,” said Gerty. 

“Be sure and remember all the agreeable 
things you see and hear; you know I enjoy hear- 
ing of the outside world, and of how old friends 
look, and what they say, and what they wear,” 
said Mrs. Warner, pleasantly. Gerty promised, 
and left her. 

Captain Dave was in the carriage with Rose- 
Marie when it drew up at the door; he had re- 
turned in time from his sleigh-ride; and Uncle 
Max had left him at Mr. Hazel ton’s on his way 
down town. Gerty was in the hall, ready, when 
he let himself in with his night-key; he cast an 
approving glance over her simple, but elegant 
and becoming toilette, whispered, “Just as I like 
my sister to look,” handed her into the carriage, 
sprang in himself, and they drove off laughing 
and chatting as only the young and light-hearted 
can do. Between the calls, Gerty told her 
brother of the expected visitor, and how glad 


WARP AND WOOF. 


99 


they all were that he was at home to help to 
make things pleasant for him. 

“Is he young or old?” asked Rose-Marie. 

‘ ‘ I really did not ask father, now I think of it, 
but fancy he’s young, as something was said 
about his having left college not long ago.” 

“What’s his name?” 

“ Peter Jones,” answered Gerty, without com- 
ment, while a rosy flush suffused her face — ^why, 
unless she had so involuntarily resented the un- 
fortunate name, she could not imagine. 

“ Peter Jones!” exclaimed Rose-Marie, with a 
look of horror; “how could a human being sur- 
vive such a name ? How can you endure the idea 
of living under the same roof with a being named 
Peter Jones? You shan’t sacrifice Davy to such 
an ogre, Gerty; I won’t have him kept tied down 
to entertain him; Uncle Max is the right one to 
take a youth with such an insufferable name in 
hand. ’ ’ Her voice trembled with indignation in 
every tone. 

‘ ‘ I shall have to be sacrificed, notwithstand- 
ing,” said Captain Dave, laughing, “but who is 
he, Gerty, and where does he come from?” 

“His family are dear old friends of father’s; 
his father and ours were students together at 
some college, I didn’t ask where, and I suspect 
he’s an Englishman, or perhaps an American; 
he’s coming to-morrow. They were all very 
good to father once, when he was away from 
home, and nursed him through a long illness.” 


TOO 


WARP AND WOOR. 


“His family! — oil then, he’s an old man no- 
body’ll mind,” said Rose-Marie, with a toss of 
her pretty head. “ Here we are at Mr. Seward’s; 
only look, Gerty, at the number of foreigners 
who are going in! How perfectly delightful!” 


WARP AND WOOIf. 


lOI 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A GDIMPSE OP A FACE. 

“The train gets in at 2:30, and we’ll be here 
in time for lunch, daughter,” said Mr. Warner, 
the next morning, as he left the breakfast table. 

“Yes, father; I’ll have everything very nice 
and comfortable,” said Gerty, bright and cheer- 
ful, as she followed him to the hall to help him 
put on his wraps — a little labor of love that she 
reserved for herself always, and which he would 
have missed, had she, for any cause, been 
obliged to omit it. 

Mr. Warner had spoken to his son, the niglit 
before, of the expected visitor, and hoped that 
they would become friends. “I’ll do my best, 
sir, to make him feel at home; but friendship, 
you know, does not always come at one’s bid- 
ding. I have the most friendly disposition, how- 
ever, towards him, for your sake, and I shall be 
on hand to welcome him. ’ ’ 

“That’s as much as I could honestly expect,” 
said Mr. Warner, in his pleasant, even voice, as 
Gerty finished hooking his fur collar. 

Peter Jones arrived with Mr. Warner at the 
appointed hour. He had on furs and a cloak; a 
railway rug hung over his arm, and he carried 


102 


WARP AND WOOF. 


an ungainly-looking leather bag in his hand, 
while his fur cap was pulled down over his fore- 
head, almost concealing his eyes; and he was al- 
together, Gerty thought, as she saw him through 
the curtains when he left the carriage, as uncouth 
and awkward-looking a person as she had ever 
seen. Davy met them at the hall-door, was in- 
troduced by his father, and grasped the young 
man’s hand, bidding him welcome in a few 
hearty words; he then led him in, and helped 
him to dispose of his superfluous wraps, and his 
bag. He took off his cap, and stood revealed, a 
tall, well-formed figure, with tawny hair, large, 
honest eyes, and a pleasant mouth, what could be 
seen of it under a thick, drooping moustache; 
but he was awkward and shy, yet it was evidently 
not the under-bred awkwardness of ignorance, 
but of seclusion from the conventional wavs of 
the world. 

“You are most kind,” he said, in perfect Eng- 
lish, bowing to Mr. Warner and Captain Dave; 
“my father told me I should find friends when 
I met you and your family, sir.” 

“Your father’s son is welcome a thousand 
times to my house,” said Mr. Warner; “come, 
let me introduce you to my daughter.” 

Gerty was waiting just inside the parlor-door 
to receive and welcome him, but she felt half 
amused, half sorry, when she saw his face crim- 
son, and an expression come over it which very 
plainly meant that he’d like to get away, if pos- 
sible. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


103 


“You need not be afraid,” was the proud 
thought that rose in her mind when, the intro- 
duction having taken place, she bowed, smiled, 
and held out her hand, which he barely touched. 

In the warmth and glow of the cosy parlor, 
where, from the hangings and pictures to the 
smallest adornments, everything showed the im- 
press of an elegant, harmonious taste — albeit 
some of the things were old-fashioned, and nearly 
threadbare — the painful shyness that froze Peter 
Jones began to wear oiBf under the influence of 
the genuinely friendly efibrts that were made to 
set him at his ease, and impress upon him, with- 
out further words, an assurance of cordial wel- 
come, and presently he was able to make more 
than monosyllabic responses to the conversation 
addressed to him. Gerty excused herself, and 
went out to see if lunch was served, thinking in 
her heart that Peter Jones was the most remark- 
able young man she had ever seen, and firmly 
convinced that his entirely un-American man- 
ners were due to his being educated in England ; 
and her opinion, long since formed, that Ameri- 
can boys should be educated in their own coun- 
try, was now confirmed. Everything was ready, 
and Gerty stood in her place, at the head of the 
table, with the dignity of a young matron, when 
they came in. 

“ I would not show you to your room until yon 
got some refreshments after your long journey, 
my boy,’’ said Mr. Warner, leading the way. 


104 


;VARP AND WOOF. 


‘ Thanks; if you’ll be so good as to excuse 
my travelling coat, ’ ’ he replied. 

“Certainly; we have no formalities among 
ourselves, and I want you to try and be quite one 
of us. This is your chair. ’ ’ 

Mr. Warner always asked a blessing at his 
table, no matter who might be his guests, and 
when he was necessarily absent, Gerty performed 
the little ofl&ce without embarrassment or confu- 
sion, as something so habitual in her daily life, 
as almost to seem a natural outgrowth of it; and 
now, as each one paused an instant, crossing 
himself, she involuntarily glanced towards Peter 
Jones in time to see him reverently make the 
Sign of the Cross when grace was said. “He’s 
a Catholic, then,” she thought; “that is some 
satisfaction. He crossed himself as if he had 
been used to doing it all his life” — as, indeed, he 
had been, only Gerty did not know it — “and it 
will make him easier to get on with. ’ ’ 

It was a nicely-prepared lunch, and the young 
hostess was glad to see that their guest did 
ample justice to the good things set before 
him; her usual simple, pleasant manner grad- 
ually returned, the first awkwardness of reserve 
wore off, and she presided with her own peculiar 
grace, a grace without affectation or self-con- 
sciousness, and by the time they left the table, 
she began to think that Peter Jones would not 
turn- out the bete noir she had dreaded. She ran 
up to tell her mother now nicely everything had 


WARP AND WOOF. 


105 

passed off. Mr. Warner looked in upon them 
with a nod and a smile, told his wife how glad 
he was to see her up and wearing something of 
her old, bright look, promised to be home early, 
and then hurried away to his office, leaving the 
two young men together, to smoke and get ac- 
quainted. 

“I am sorry my mother’s health prevented 
her giving you welcome to-day with the rest of 
us, but she told me to offer her very kind greet- 
ings. She has been confined to her room for 
some months now, and my sister acts as the spe- 
cial Providence of the family in her place, ’ ’ ex- 
plained Captain Warner; “to-morrow, after you 
get settled, she desires to have you come up, and 
be introduced to her. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ A thousand thanks. To be so kindly thought 
of by the mother of the house is all that was 
needed to make me feel entirely at home, ’ ’ said 
she young man, blowing off a great cloud of 
smoke, that concealed a moisture that had gath- 
ered in his eyes. “I’m afraid I shall be a great 
trouble to you ; I expected, you know, to live at 
a hotel ; but Mr. Warner would not hear of such 
an arrangement, and I — I feel deeply grateful, at 
being brought here into his own family, and 
treated like one of his children. It was embar- 
rassing, you know.” 

“Naturally, as you knew nothing about us; 
now, all you’ve got to do, Jones, is to make your- 
self at home as soon as possible, ’ ’ 


Io6 WARP AND WOOI^. 

The door opened, and Rachel announced that 
“Mr. Jones’ baggage was come.” 

“Perhaps you’d rather be in your room to re- 
ceive it,” said Captain Dave. 

“If you please,” replied Peter Jones, tossing 
the end of his cigar into the grate. 

“Tell the men to bring the traps up, Rachel. 
Come, Jones, I’ll show you your room,” said Cap- 
tain Dave; and he led the way upstairs to the 
pretty, cosy apartment that Gerty had prepared 
with so much kind thought and care. There was 
a bright fire on the hearth now, clusters of holly 
glowed in the vases on the mantel-piece, and 
sunshine lay upon the floor. Peter Jones cast a 
rapid glance around; nothing of the general 
effect escaped him, and his heart warmed with a 
still deeper sense of welcome. 

“It reminds me of my home when I was a 
boy, before my mother died,” he said, grasping 
Captain Dave’s hand; “you are too kind.” 

“Don’t make so much of it, old fellow; you 
don’t know us yet,” said Captain Dave, laughing 
and speaking cheerfully, to banish sad and grave 
thoughts, which the situation rather evoked 
from the mind of his guest. “Here they come, 
big box, little box, band — no, not bandbox — it 
looks like a mummy-case, Jones, but it’s all 
right; then there’s a portmanteau and a great 
bag — is that all?” 

“That is right, except the mummy-case,” said 
Peter Jones, laughing, and lifting the case up 


WARP AND WOOF. IO7 

very tenderly, while lie turned it and examined 
the fastenings; “I have not here the mummy of 
an Egyptian infant, Warner, but my violin, my 
Straduarius, the companion of my life. It is 
quite safe, ’ ’ he added, depositing it on the bed 
with as much care as if it had been a sleeping: 
child. 

“Here,” said Captain Dave, in accordance 
with instructions he had received from his sister 
that morning, and trying his best to remember 
them all, “here Jones, you see, is a door that 
opens into a small room, or rather a very large 
closet, where you can stow your trunks after you 
unpack, and you’ll find room in this old ward- 
robe to go to housekeeping in, if you like, and 
this tall bureau, that I verily believe came out 
of the ark, will give you no end of drawers, and 
— and — let me see if I’ve forgotten anything — 
oh! behind this curtain are shelves for your 
books, and that table over there will serve you 
to write on. But let me suggest something: 
Eet your traps alone until to-morrow, and take a 
walk. ’ ’ 

“If you will excuse me, I had better go to 
work now. If I do not, I shall lose the best part 
of to-morrow,” said Peter Jones, who had evi- 
dently a methodical mind. 

“Just as you like; can I help you?” 

‘ ‘ A thousand thanks — no I ’ ’ 

“Well, I’ll go and take a little run; by the 
time you get through I shall be back, and you’ll 
find me in the parlor. We dine at six.” 


I08 WARP AND WOOF. 

“I shall be unhappy i( you do not go on ex- 
actly as if I were not here,” said Peter Jones, 
laying his large, shapely hand on Captain Dave’s 
shoulder, while his honest gray eyes wore a 
questioning expression. 

“I’m off, then,” he answered, laughing, “I’ll 
forget that you are in the world, until I see you 
again. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ That is right. ’ ’ 

“St. George!” thought Captain Dave, as he 
went down stairs to get ready for his walk, ‘ ‘ I 
hope he’s not a prig! If he is, I’m afraid I shall 
hate him. What is he doing with that little 
limp in his phraseology? It doesn’t sound 
American, or English either, for that matter. 
I suppose he was educated at some German or 
French university.” 

In crossing the park, he observed a group of 
three or four foreign attaches^ belonging to the 
different legations, sauntering towards H street, 
where several card receptions were going on, 
which they evidently meant to attend. They 
seemed to be in high spirits, and were engaged in 
animated conversation, mixed with chaff, the lat- 
ter directed towards one of their number, whom 
an intervening magnolia tree prevented his see- 
ing. In fact, he felt not the slightest curiosity 
to do so, and would have given them no further 
attention, but his way lead transversely past 
them, towards the avenue entrance, and as he ap- 
proached, he heard the words jolie Ro^e 


WARP AND WOOF. IO9 

Marie^^'* followed by a laugh, aftei which they 
turned an angle to get into H street, and he 
caught a glimpse, but only a glimpse, of a face 
that brought back vividly to his recollection the 
beautiful one he had seen, dead as he thought, 
in the cellar of the old Spanish house of Dom 
Pedro del Alaya; and its double, no less beauti- 
ful, that he had noticed so particularly a few 
hours before, on the mail steamer just leaving 
New Orleans. “Which of them is it?” Cap- 
tain Dave asked himself. Could it be an acci- 
dental resemblance? Had Deonce de Moret 
recovered, and come to visit the capital? He 
determined to follow the young men, that he 
might assure himself of the supposed identity, 
or have satisfactory proof that he was mistaken. 
Dave Warner was not given to running after 
“will o’ the wisps” of the fancy, but here 'was 
something which might be a real clue to the 
mysterious adventure he had stumbled upon in 
New Orleans. He reached H street with rapid 
steps, hastening towards Senator Hall’s, before 
whose house the street was blocked with car- 
riages, and into whose door the gay world was 
thronging. He was just in time to see the party 
he followed disappear in the wide hall beyond 
the vestibule, which was filled by an elegant 
crowd, who were being ushered into the recep- 
tion room by name, as rapidly as possible. Cap- 
tain Warner and his sister had received cards; 
but as they had concluded not to go, and as he 


no 


WARP AND WOOF. 


was not dressed for sucli an occasion, there was 
nothing left for him to do but go away, and keep 
on to Mr. Ashton’s office to talk over the affair 
with him. But when he got there, Uncle Max 
was -engaged in a grave consultation with two of 
his legal brethren, and could not be interrupted, 
as he knew of old. Altogether, the young offi- 
cer felt that his equanimity was hardly equal to 
the demands upon it. He was conscious of being 
baffled, and through and above all, he was aware 
of a burning indignation that Rose-Marie Hazel- 
ton’s name should have been so flippantly and 
lightly uttered in a public place by strange men. 
He would have felt so about any woman he re- 
spected ; but she, whom he had known all her life, 
and whose very thoughtlessness and defenceless- 
ness appealed to his friendship and the chivalry 
of his nature for protection, would only have been 
compromised by any Quixotic proceeding on his 
part, however much the impertinence deserved 
chastisement. He wondered if Eugene de St. 
Aignan, whom Rose-Marie talked so much non- 
sense about, and this young foreigner, whose face 
had just startled him by its marked resemblance to 
the two he had so strangely met in New Orleans, 
could be the same? Here was enough, in all 
conscience, for Captain Dave to think about. 
“I’ll keep my eyes open, that’s all. That girl 
has no brother, and might as well have no father; 
and I pray God if any harm threatens the foolish, 
warm-hearted little thing, that I may find it out 


WARP AND WOOF. 


Ill 


in time. Slie shall not suffer for a brother’s 
care, at least while I’m here.” The young officer 
was on his way home, and had just turned from 
14 th into H street, when he met the Hazel ton 
carriage. Rose-Marie, on her way to some other 
entertainment, was in it, and by her side the 
stranger, whose dark, perfect face had so startled 
him an hour ago; she saw him, leaned forward, 
bright with smiles and exultation, and bowed as 
the carriage rolled past; he lifted his cap, and 
felt for an instant as if — to use an expressive 
sailor phrase — “the wind was taken out of his 
sails.” Then it occurred to him that he was 
disturbing himself more than he had a right to 
do about the affairs of other people — meaning 
Rose-Marie — who would follow their own de- 
vices, whatever might be said or done. But he 
was determined that he would trace the clue he 
had found to the mysterious affair in New Or- 
leans, come what might. He was now near the 
church; the doors were still open — he glanced in, 
and far away, through the dim shadows that 
wrapped the interior, he saw the star-like glow 
of the sanctuary lamp, directing the soul, like a 
true Pharos, to its only safe port on life’s stormy 
shores. He obeyed the impulse it suggested, 
and went in to offer homage, and ask help of 
Him whose divine and real presence dwells in 
the tabernacle. Kneeling a little way in front 
of him, he saw Gerty, who very often found time 
to spend a half hour in the sacred place, to say 


112 


WARP AND WOOF. 


her chaplet, undisturbed by worldly distractions. 
Presently she arose to go, and having joined her 
at the door, they walked home together, en- 
livening the way by cheerful words, the outcome 
of hearts at peace. 

The next evening the young people spent at 
home, always the dearest and happiest spot on 
earth to them. Captain Dave betrayed the pres- 
ence of the ‘ ‘ Straduarius ’ ’ up stairs, and opened 
the piano; then, after a little talk about music, 
Peter Jones was found to have an enthusiastic 
love for it, and for Mendelssohn in particular; 
he confessed acquaintance with his compositions, 
and Gerty admitted that she had been practising 
for some days his ‘ ‘ Songs Without Words. ’ ’ The 
violin was brought down with a good-natured 
desire to please, and with delicate, tender touches, 
the great, shy fellow drew forth strains from it, 
full of taste and feeling, that were executed with 
masterly skill. His countenance lit up with the 
glow of his passionate love for music, Peter 
Jones — his shyness forgotten, his awkwardness 
cast aside — stood revealed to his stranger friends 
quite another personality, almost handsome, 
and of noble presence, with a strange mingling 
in his countenance of all that was manly and 
good. Gerty played the ‘ ‘ Songs Without Words ’ ’ 
to his exquisite accompaniment, and made but 
one or two mistakes, which he adroitly covered 
by a quick variation. The evening passed de- 
lightfully, and Mr. Warner told his wife, when 


WARP AND WOOF. 


he went up stairs, that he had never heard music 
that delighted him so perfectly, the violin being 
his favorite instrument, and it was his intention 
to ask the favor of his young friend to bring his 
‘ ‘ Straduarius ’ ’ in and play for her the next 
day, which gave her great pleasure. 

The two young men went up stairs together, 
and before saying a good-night Peter Jones said, 
with some embarrassment: 

‘ ‘ Perhaps you can tell me how I may find my 
way to the nearest church in the morning.” 

“Do you prefer one of the earlier Masses?” 

“Yes, I wish to make a thanksgiving Com- 
munion, for my safe arrival, you know.” 

“We will go together, then, as it is my regular 
Sunday for Communion. We shall find a good 
Father in the confessional, and get through in 
time for the second Mass. I’ll come to your 
door, shall I?” 

“If you please — I am such a sound sleeper. 
Won’t you come in for a little while?” 

“Not to-night. You have finished unpack- 
ing, I see, and everything is in such apple-pie. 
order, that I think I should enjoy upsetting 
something,” said Captain Dave, laughing. 

“Do, then. How will you begin?” 

“I’ll defer it; I’m afraid I’m too tired to do 
justice to my topsy-turvey impulses to-night. 
But pleasant dreams to you,” said the other, 
closing the door, and going away to his room, 
where he poked up his fire, and throwing him- 

4* 


WARP AND WOOF. 


II4 

self in a camp chair, leaned back, glowering at 
the coals, watching the fantastic pictures they 
made, thinking of the face he had seen that day, 
and wondering, until he found himself in a 
labyrinth to which there seemed no outlet. 
Then, drowsy with the very weariness of it, the 
brave young fellow performed his devotions, and 
commending himself to the keeping of the most 
pure Virgin, his head scarcely touched his pillow 
before he was asleep. 


WARP AND WOOR. 


II5 


CHAPTER IX. 

AN INOPPORTUNE VISIT. 

The fiishionable season was at its lieiglit. 
Every one of the least social pretension was 
engaged in the whirl of gayety, as if for deal 
life. Everything else was forgotten, or seemed 
to be ; all friendly visiting was postponed until 
the church bells should toll on Ash- Wednesday, 
and the tarnished, draggled finery of the season 
be folded away. We are not a Catholic people, 
understand; but Mrs. Grundy ordains that it is 
good form for society to keep Tent, and society 
does it from sheer exhaustion. At first there' is 
a brief lull ; then begin the decorous, charitable 
amusements, and the gossip and scandal of the 
whirl just over drifts to the surface, and reputa- 
tions get torn to tatters over the steaming tea- 
cups at the Eenten reunions. This is this 
world’s way of observing Eent; very different 
from the old-fashioned way we know of 

The Warners had not accepted many invita- 
tions, and had seen very little of Rose-Marie, 
whose engagements swept her entirely out of 
sight. Captain Dave had called a few times, but 
she was not at home. He thought perhaps he 
might find her in if he went just iff/u her recep- 


Il6 WARP AND WOOff. 

tion closed, on Friday, her regular “at home’’ 
day. It was 8 o’clock when he rung the bell, 
and he knew that the people who had thronged 
the rooms must have all gone an hour ago. He 
inquired if Miss Hazelton was in. 

“Yes, sir,” replied the servant, who had 
known him ever since he was a boy, and under- 
stood the intimate relations that had always 
existed between the two families; “she is in her 
boodore^ sir; walk right in, if you please.” 

And Captain Dave marched in, accordingly, in 
time to see Rose-Marie standing near her harp, 
from which she had apparently just risen, while 
bending over her hand, which was raised to his 
lips, was the tall, graceful figure he had once 
seen wounded to death, or the ddppelganger he 
had met on the landing at New Orleans. But 
neither of them had seen him. The first had 
not recovered his consciousness up to the time of 
his leaving New Orleans; the other had not once 
turned his eyes toward him, although they had 
stood at no great distance apart on the landing, 
where he waited for a load of baggage and mail 
bags to get over the gangway of the steamer, 
before he stepped on board. It was too late now 
for the young officer to withdraw, having entered 
the boudoir; nor could he help the stern, pene- 
trating look that came into his eyes as they fell 
upon the man. Rose-Marie flushed crimson 
when she saw him. 

“I was invited in; I had a message for you, or 


WARP AND WOOF. 


117 


I should have turned away when 1 saw that the 
rest of the world had gone,” he said, cap in hand, 
in his clear, firm tones. 

“I am glad to be remembered. It is an age 
since I have seen any of you. Captain Warner, 
Monsieur de St. Aignan,” said Rose-Marie, re- 
covering from her momentary embarrassment. 
Captain Warner bowed, and so did the foreigner, 
with easy grace. 

“Since you are glad to see me. Miss Hazelton, 
I will take a chair, if you’ll allow me,” said 
Captain Dave, whose old wound was aching, and 
who would have prolonged his visit now, even 
had his leg been perfectly sound. 

“Do so; take the easiest one you can find, and 
let me give you this cushion to rest your foot 
on,” said Rose-Marie, taking one from the sofa, 
while her eyes sparkled, and there was a little 
ring in her voice, both of which he knew as the 
signs of years ago. Whenever she could do no- 
thing else to tease him, she affected to think he 
was very lame. 

“No, thanks,” he said, declining the cushion; 
“you are very kind. If it’s not being too trou- 
blesome, will you let Don be sent for?” 

There was a scintillating spark in the sleepy 
brown eyes of Monsieur de St. Aignan, as he 
watched Captain Dave’s easy, at-home manner. 

Yes, indeed; he’s pining to come down. 
He’s been in punishment all day for throwing 
some of the finest h)cts I had in the world into 
the fire — ^poor little fellow!” 


Il8 WARP AND WOO^^. 

“I suppose you rewarded him with kisses and 
bon-botisf'^'^ 

“I believe I did; not just at first, you know— 
it was only when he began to sob as if his heart 
would break. What else could I do? ” she asked, 
with a little laugh, as she stepped out of the 
boudoir to send for Don. 

‘ ‘ Pardon me, but your face is so familiar. 
Monsieur de St. Aignan, as to puzzle an indefi- 
nite memory. Did we meet in New Orleans?” 
asked Captain Dave. 

‘ ‘ I imagine not. I have been only a month 
in the country, and have not been farther south 
than this, ’ ’ he replied, with perfect sang froid. 

“Allow me to compliment you on your per- 
fect command of English.” 

“It was a whim of my father’s to have me 
taught the language thoroughly. He had a 
warm admiration for your great republic, and, 
not knowing what tricks fate might play France 
in the future, he thought it was a good prepara- 
tion, should I be obliged to find shelter here, 
which he desired me to do, if events urged it. 
It is a fine country — a fine Government, if it can 
only maintain itself.” 

“No fear of that, sir,” answered Captain 
Dave, while an undercurrent of dual thought 
suggested : ‘ ‘ There cannot be three faces so ex- 

actly alike in the world — it is impossible!” 

Just then Rose-Marie, her cheeks still wearing 
a carnation tint, came in, leading Don, dressed 


WARP AND WOOF. 


II9 

in liis Highland suit, by the hand; a sweet, auda- 
cious, beautiful little outlaw, whose large blue 
eyes looked fearlessly out on the world, who was 
ripe for mischief at any moment, and as destruc- 
tive as a wild kitten. His golden-brown hair 
was cut straight across his forehead, and hung in 
loose waves and curls over his temples and 
shoulders. He shook hands with both gentle- 
men, at his sister’s bidding, then climbed to 
Captain Dave’s knee, where he settled himself. 

‘‘I hope my little friend is quite well to-day,” 
said Monsieur de St. Aignan, his white, even 
teeth showing under his dark moustache. 

“I don’t like ’00,” answered Don, glowering 
at him. 

“Don, that is rude. Thank Monsieur de St. 
Aignan, and tell him you are very well,” said 
Rose-Marie. 

“Won’t. Him maked ’00 send me ’way two 
times, ’ ’ said the enfant terrible. 

‘ ‘ Don, would you like to take a ride with me 
to-morrow? I am going across the river to the 
forts, where you’ll hear the drums, and see the 
soldiers marching;” said Captain Dave, to give 
Rose-Marie time to recover from her embarrass- 
ment — for she had not only crimsoned to the 
temples, but was for the moment bereft of the 
power of turning it off with one of her usual 
gay sallies. And he was wicked enough to bless 
Don in his heart. By what magnetism hci 
foreign friend was warned that the man before 


120 


WARP AND WOOF. 


him was in some way, and for some inexplicable 
reason, averse to him, it is impossible to explain; 
we only know that he felt it tingling through 
every nerve, and that such instances are of com- 
mon occurrence in daily life, in persons of sensi- 
tive organization. He had never seen Captain 
Warner before, nor could he imagine that the 
Captain had ever seen him. Surely his random 
question about New Orleans, then, could have 
meant nothing ; he felt quite sure of that. But 
he was uncomfortable ; not only uncomfortable, 
but secretly exasperated that his tHe-a-tHe with 
Rose-Marie had been interrupted. Presently he 
rose, said good evening to Captain Warner, and 
au revoir to Rose-Marie, then bowed himself 
gracefully out. 

‘‘Now for your message. Captain Warner,” 
she said, curving her pretty lips and throwing 
back her head, with a little air that showed her 
to be in not the sweetest of moods. 

“Oh, true! I had forgotten it in the surprise 
of meeting your friend so unexpectedly.” 

“And at seeing him kiss my hand, I suppose! 
Kissing hands mean just nothing at all with for- 
eigners ; it is one of their graceful ways, you 
know, ’ ’ she hastened to say, to show how little 
she cared. 

“It is a foreign custom, I’m aware. He’s a 
wonderful!) handsome fellow.” 

“ How generous of you to admit it! He is not 
only handsome, but he has travelled everywhere ; 


WARP AND WOOF. 


121 


and he has talents and cultivation too, and pol- 
ished manners, which it would be well foi 
Americans to imitate.” 

“Miss Hazel ton, I grant all you say, except 
the last. For myself I detest imitations ; I pre- 
fer what is true and genuine in every one’s Indi- 
viduality.” 

“Fike Don there, I suppose. Yon encouraged 
him in his rudeness to-night, you know you 
did,” she exclaimed, while her eyes filled with 
indignant tears. 

“How, pray?” 

“By taking so much notice of him; you 
always do ; you have spoilt him. ’ ’ 

“Have I spoilt you, Don?” said Captain 
Dave, looking down into Don’s blue eyes, which 
were raised to his with a questioning expression 
in them. 

“No, ’tain’t,” answered Don, without the 
least respect for grammar, or relevancy to the 
subject in discussion — he only felt that his sister 
had said something that he ought to contradict. 

“Good night, then, little friend. I’ll come 
for you to-morrow, if you are good,” he said, 
putting Don off his knee and smoothing down 
his crumpled velvet kilt. “I think I must be 
going. I remember our school-day quarrels, Miss 
Hazelton. They used to be like April storms, but 
people change as they grow up, and their resent- 
ments mean moie. What am I to think?” He 
was standing before her, cap in hand, ready 
to go. 


122 


WARP AND WOOF. 


Rose-Marie was conscious she deserved 
reproach ; she was ill at ease, and alread}^ sorry 
for her petulance. She loved the Warners, and 
would not have quarrelled with them for the 
world; and she could but contrast the manly 
figure, and grave, noble face, standing before 
her, with the one which had just left her pres- 
ence. This one she knew and trusted; the other, 
although infatuated with, she had many secret 
misgivings about. As frank as she was impul- 
sive, she held out her hand, saying: “Let’s make 
up, Davy, ’ ’ and looked so exactly as she used to 
in their old, childish disputes, that he could not 
resist her, but burst out laughing, and grasped 
her hand. 

“Come here, Donald darling, you shall not be 
sent up-stairs again, ’ ’ she said, dropping into a 
low Turkish chair, and folding the boy closer to 
her, showering kisses on his head and face. 

‘ ‘ Two children, ’ ’ thought Captain Dave, as he 
witnessed the little scene, as brief as it was 
spontaneous; “both alike needing care and guid- 
ance.” And in his true, brave heart, he 
breathed a prayer, asking the powerful protection 
of the Virgin Immaculate for these two helpless 
beings, who were surrounded on every side by 
snares and temptations, which their undiscip- 
lined natures would find it hard to resist with- 
out it. 

“I’m afraid I shall forget Gerty’s message, 
after all,” he said, resuming his seat; “she sends 


WARP AND WOOF. 


123 


love, and wants you to come and spend your first 
disengaged evening with her; she has a great 
treat in store for you. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Dear Gerty ! I have no end of engagements, 
but I’m getting very tired of seeing the same 
faces everywhere, and doing the same thing, and 
saying the same words over, and over, and over 
again; even flirting grows wearisome at times. 
Do tell me, Davy, what spell has Gerty in re- 
serve for me? — Peter Jones?” she asked, laugh- 
ing in her old merry way. 

“Some very fine music, I believe,” he an- 
swered; “as to Peter Jones, I want to tell you 
that he’s a splendid fellow.” 

“He’s not ill-looking,” she said, slowly, 
“I’ve seen him a few times in church. He 
must be awfully slow to get on with, he seems to 
be so pious. ’ ’ 

“He’s a good Catholic, but I don’t see why 
that should make him slow. It surely does not 
detract from the qualities that inspire respect and 
affection. He’s a cheerful, warm-hearted fellow, 
a thorough gentleman in the best sense of the 
w^ord. Father and Uncle Max think highly of 
his intellectual powers. He’s quite at home 
with us, and my mother, whom he goes to see 
every day, is devoted to him.” 

“He’s almost too perfect, Davy, for this 
world,” said Rose-Marie, throwing up her e/es. 

“Probably that’s why he seeks his happiness 
elsewhere. He’s a shy fellow with strangers. 


124 


WARP AND WOOF. 


thoiigli, and does not show to advantage when 
thrown among them.” 

“And Gerty! how does she get on with him?” 
she asked, with a mischievous smile. 

“Oh! very well; she has grown quite accus- 
tomed to him, and don’t mind him in the least. 
I heard her scolding him this morning for throw- 
ing his coat and hat on the hall chairs, instead 
of hanging them on the rack. ’ ’ 

“How refreshing! But his name! — how can 
yon stand such a name? It makes my flesh 
creep. ’ ’ 

“We have grown to like his name because it 
is his. It fits him, somehow,” said Captain 
Dave; “but, indeed, I must be off; what shall I 
tell Gerty?” 

“Tell her, with my very best love, that I’ll 
come the first evening I can get off. This would 
have been a good opportunity, if I had thought 
of it. I rarely go out after my own reception, 
I feel so awfully tired. This day week, then, 
come for me, will you?” 

“Yes, with pleasure. ’ ’ 

“And you are quite sure yoii have forgiven 
me?” she asked, with a winsome smile. 

“Yes, indeed; and, as a friend, Rose-Marie, I 
am at your service always. Remember it, and 
take my hand upon it as a pledge, German 
fashion.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, Davy, if I only had a grown-iip brother 
like you! But I’ll remember,” she said, laying 


WARP AND WOOF. 1 25 

her white, tender hand in his broad palm, “and 
if I ever want help, I shall let you know.” 

“That is right. Don has gone to sleep, I 
see, so good-bye; Vll come by for him to-mor- 
row. ’ ’ 

When Captain Dave got home, he found Mr. 
Ashton and Gerty in the hall, he pulling on his 
overcoat, she standing with his fur collar in her 
hand, ready to clasp it when he should be ready. 
Deaning against the door-frame of the sitting- 
room, where the three had been spending a 
pleasant evening together, was Peter Jones, his 
grave honest eyes watching Gerty ’s movements 
with an introverted sort of expression in them, 
as if he were questioning his inner life, and 
seeking to unravel thoughts almost incompre- 
hensible to him. The girl’s lovely daily life, 
with its religion of duty, the fruit of her earnest 
faith and unostentatious piety, her cheerful spirit 
and the simple charm of her manner, had won 
Peter Jones’s admiration. Under her influence 
— unsuspected by her — his life here among 
strangers had been more like the home feeling 
he had always pined for, yet never known, and 
so filled with content, that he dared not question 
himself, lest it should all fade away from him, 
as most of his dreams did. His life had been a 
lonely one, without the tender ties of mother 
or sister to brighten it. Separated a great deal 
from his father, whom he loved and honored — 
and who was most worthy of a son’s devotion — 


126 


WARP AND WOOF. 


by the high public duties which claimed his 
time, and living only in universities, where 
he found no companionship that was con- 
genial, and which a nature like his requires, he 
had grown to manhood in a solitary existence ; 
happily preserved by his holy Faith from those 
dangers which make shipwreck of so many 
young lives, he patiently awaited the develop- 
ments of the future. The Warners, and his 
daily association with them, had warmed him 
into life, and brought out the unfolding blossoms 
of a true and tender nature ; he had found home, 
almost a mother’s love, whole-hearted friends in 
Mr. Warner, his son, and Uncle Max, and in 
Gerty — ^what? He could not define it. Was it 
friend? Was it sister? He could not tell, nor 
did he mean to torture himself by a mental vivi- 
section to find out ; whatever it might be, even 
if it were an illusion, it added a new charm to 
his life, and he was satisfied. 

By this time. Uncle Max has shaken hands 
with Captain Dave, and is ready to say “good- 
bye,” in the same breath, with his, “how dy’e 
do?” The hall door was opened, and as he 
walked out, to his surprise, his nephew accom- 
pained him. 

“I am going to walk a little stretch with 
Uncle Max, Gerty,” he said, nodding to his sis- 
ter^ as he ran down the steps. 

‘ ‘ Such balmy weather for a promenade, ’ ’ cried 
Gerty after him, her merry laugh ringing out 


WARP AND WOOF. 


127 


like music on the clear, ice-cold air. Then the 
door was closed, and the two gentlemen walked 
on. 

“What in the mischief brought you out again, 
Dave? — do you think I’m getting too old to take 
care of myself?” asked Mr. Ashton. 

“I wanted to speak to you. Uncle Max. As 
sure as we both live, I saw that fellow again to- 
night — the one I saw on the landing at New 
Orleans, or the one I found wounded in the cel- 
lar of the old Spanish house ; it is one or the 
other of them. I told you of the glimpse I had 
of his face in the park the other day, and how it 
had startled me; but I called at Mr. Hazel ton’s 
to-night, and found him tHe-d tete with Rose- 
Marie, evidently playing the role of lover, while 
she — ^poor girl, with no one to guide or counsel 
her — is, I very much fear, infatuated with him. 
She introduced him to me as Monsieur de St. 
Aignan.” 

“But you see, Dave, that is quite another 
name. There was no mystery about the name of 
the young fellow you found half dead in the cel- 
lar ; he was U^once de Moret, son and heir of 
the Del Alaya estate. ’ ’ 

“That is true. Uncle Max, but this U^once 
had a brother^ who, the old factor down there 
said, was the image of him, although they were 
not sons of the same mother ; the two were at 
the old house together, the negress Chapita said, 
the very day before she found her young master 


1^8 WARP AND WOOR. 

lying dead, as she thought, in the cellar* where 
she had gone to look for her cat. No one had 
seen either of them except herself, and there was 
no proof, except her word, that he had been 
there. But it was he I saw on the landing ; I 
kept my eye on him until he got on board the 
mail steamer, just as she started, thinking he 
was the handsomest fellow I had ever seen. 
Then, on my way back to my quarters, I found 
the other one, and was confounded by the strange 
resemblance between them. Uncle Max, I am 
convinced that this St. Aignan is the man I saw 
on the landing, and that it was he who nearly 
murdered his brother. ’ ^ 

“ Be very careful, Dave; you may be deceived 
by a remarkable coincidence. There have been 
many instances of mistaken identity recorded; 
some of them have led to the ignominious death 
of perfectly innocent persons. You must be 
very cautious, my boy; but it is a little singular 
that this very afternoon two of my old friends, 
habitues of society, who came in to see me, were 
talking about this fellow, St. Aignan,” said 
Uncle Max, looking around and speaking low. 
“It is reported, they said, that there’s an affair of 
the heart between himself and that silly child, 
and at the same time there’s a whisper of his 
being an adventurer. The foreigners of the 

*A cellar above ground, not below it, the latter being im- 
possible in New Orleans, where the water is so near the 
surface as to forbid all excavations. 


WARP AND WOOR. 


129 


various legations eat liis dinners, drink his wines, 
use his horses, and win his money, which he is 
very lavish with, but none of them vouch for 
him; there’s an impression that he’s not what 
he seems to be. Somebody’s found out that his 
letters of credit are good; and so far his conduct 
has been strictly honorable — no one has been 
able to find a flaw in him. It is astonishing 
Hazel ton does not look after his daughter; it is 
a difficult thing for even an old friend to go to a 
man under such circumstances, and tell him he’s 
neglecting a sacred duty, and that his daughter’s 
name is being buzzed around in connection with 
that of a fellow who is suspected of being a 
scamp; for what tangible proof is there, after all, 
that he is a scamp? I must sleep on it, Davy; it 
has really made me unhappy. Good night!” 
and Uncle Max shook hands and turned the cor- 
ner into his own street. Captain Warner went 
homewards. “I don’t believe she loves him,” 
he thought; “her vanity is flattered by his ad- 
miration and preference; there’s a romance and 
glamour about the affair that dazzles her. Very 
well! I can only keep my eyes open. How I 
wish that she and Gerty had not drifted apart, 
for she needs a friend now, if she never lid be- 
fore. ’ ’ 


5 


1^0 


WARP AND WOOF. 


CHAPTER X. 

ZORAYA. 

Society people who occasionally caught a 
glimpse of her superb figure on her way to 
church; others who saw, now and then, the 
strange, chiseled beauty of her face when she 
was present at Mass, and so absorbed in her 
devotions as not to notice the falling aside of 
the veil which usually concealed it; some others 
who met her in her solitary drives, wondered 
why Madame Zoraya de St. Aignan secluded 
herself so entirely from the world which was 
ready, if she would only make a sign, to do her 
homage. But she had declined all approaches, 
all visits, and sent polite regrets to the invita- 
tions that poured in upon her — and the world 
resented it. With her wealth, and mistress of an 
elegant establishment, it said that she owed it to 
her son, and to society, to throw open her doors, 
and do as other people did. No one could in the 
least understand why a woman so beautiful, 
graceful, and of the most refined presence — ^who 
had travelled everywhere, and seen everything, 
and who was reported to be accomplished and 
cultured, in the highest degree — should choose 
to live like a nun. She had not yet reached 


WARP AND WOOF. 


13^ 

middle age, she was not an invalid, and she was 
not wearing widow’s weeds. These were the 
only facts, except that she was the mother of the 
most attractive young man in society, and very 
rich, that could be ascertained. Then whispers 
and surmises began to float on the air. The 
least malicious pronounced her a devotee; others 
suggested that there were mysterious passages 
in her life, which she probably wished to keep 
folded away out of sight; and some said that she 
was melancholy mad. But good or bad, their 
opinions did not affect her; she would have 
smiled bitterly, had she heard them, and gone 
on living her solitary life unmoved. She gave 
generous alms whenever cases of distress were 
made known to her, through the papers or other- 
wise, but gave secretly; and no one ever knew 
who sent the large donations frequently received 
by the Sanitary Commission, for the use of the 
sick and disabled soldiers. 

The good clergyman who sometimes visited 
her only knew her as a penitent soul, whose 
life had been stricken by griefs that she did not 
explain, griefs inflicted by the sins of others in 
the far past. He did not know of the, long, bitter 
struggle, by which, through faith and penitence, 
she had won the power of a still, patient endur- 
ance, which was not altogether submission, nor 
yet the resignation most acceptable to Heaven, 
because the fires of resentment were not yet 
quenched in her heart, the burning sense of 


132 


WARP AND WOOR. 


wrong not yet forgiven. It was lier nature, 
more than her will, that would not let her know 
peace. 

Let us go to the house of this mysterious 
woman. It is past midnight, and we will find 
her alone. The fire burns low in the grate, 
under a heap of dead coals that look like scoria 
from a volcano, and white ashes, that tremble 
and flutter in the drafts of the chimney. A wax 
taper, floating in oil, burns with star-like rad- 
iance before a large painting of Mary of Egypt, 
and illuminates but a narrow circle, leaving the 
rest of the rich apartment in shadow. It is not 
too dark to see that the hangings over the win- 
dows are of crimson velvet, with arabesque 
borders of gold, and that under them are curtains 
of embroidered lace. Some of the luxurious 
chairs are covered with gold-colored satin, some 
with crimson; a table of malachite, bearing a 
costly vase, from which droop flowers of tropical 
tints, stands just where the dull red glow of the 
fire gleams upon its green, polished surface, and 
there is a large mirror, reflecting the chiar-oscuro^ 
so full of shadows, and dull golden tints. On a 
low-cushioned lounge, rolled back from the fire- 
place, Madame Zoraya de St. Aignan reposes, 
and one might think her asleep, so motionless is 
she; on“'y her large, soft, lustrous eyes, are open, 
dreamily gazing at the shadows, and lips are 
moving in silent whispers, as one by one the 
ruby beads of her- chaplet drop through her fin- 


WARP AND WOOF. 


133 


gers. It appears inconsistent that one, whose 
life has been embittered by a nameless sorrow, 
should find heart for all this splendor, this glory 
of gold and crimson and precious things, these 
costly fabrics, this radiant glitter. They give 
her no happiness, but her nature craves them; 
they seem to be a part of herself, without which 
there would be a strange, cold emptiness in her 
life; and she surrounds herself with whatever her 
taste craves of the beautiful. They afford her 
a kind of companionship, which is mute and 
without reproach, something better than the 
1 hollow mockery the world could give. 

Wherever she had her abode, her rare beauty, 
her wealth, her utter seclusion, and persistent 
rejection of all social amenities, had excited 
wonder and provoked remark; but indifferent 
alike to adulation and neglect, she had for 
years made her home where she listed, some- 
times in the south of Europe, for quite a time 
in Damascus, then in one of the picturesque 
villages of the Eebanon, from there to the 
Austrian Tyrol, then back at last to Sicily, 
where she had long ago purchased a house 
among the olive-groves, and distant from the 
beaten way of travel, where she was joined by 
her son, from whom she had been separated for 
many years. His father, whom she had not 
seen since the boy was a year old, and to whom 
she had given him in charge, had died suddenly 
in France, which would make it necessary, the 


^34 


WARP AND WOOF. 


young man urged, to go to the United States. 
“Anywhere,” she had said, “since he is dead.” 

“My brother will join me there, after he gets 
through with the notaries, and the law techni- 
calities about our father’s will: he’s the heir, 
you know. ’ ’ 

“Yes, I know. But you are generously pro- 
vided for; and I — I already had enough of my 
own. I will go when you wish,” she said, with 
a proud air. 

When they arrived in New York, their 
banker advised them to go no farther south, if 
they would avoid the excitement and dangers 
of the war; and so they went up along the 
New England coast, and found a sequestered 
cottage near the ocean, which the owner, a 
Southern man, had directed his agent to rent. 
And while she rested here, her son, anxious to 
see something of actual warfare, told her one 
day that he should leave her for a short time, 
and showed her a letter just received from his 
half-brother, requesting him to meet him in 
New York on the arrival of the next French 
steamer. She made no objection, and he took 
his departure. Knowing as she did the affec- 
tion that existed between her son and his step- 
brother, who had grown up to manhood together, 
feeling no difference in their father’s care, and 
sharing alike his prosperous fortunes and the 
advantages they gave, she thought it only nat- 
ural that they should have a mutual desire to re- 


WARP AND WOOF. 


135 


new tlieii intimate fraternal relations after so 
long a separation, the first they had ever known. 
But she, his mother, had been separated from 
him ever since he was two years old — until after 
his father’s death, who, with his almost last 
breath, commanded him to rejoin her. Was the 
emptiness and isolation of her life caused by the 
unsatisfied craving of her heart for her child? 
It would not have been strange, if — with only 
this one object to love — her maternal affection 
had become an absorbing passion. But so far 
from this being the case, the thought of him 
had always stung her, even when her heart, 
obedient to the instincts of nature, was moved 
with tender yearning towards him; and now 
that he had come, his presence pained her, and 
awakened a blended emotion of deep compassion 
and intense bitterness, which made his absence 
a relief. Any mother might have been justly 
proud of his manly beauty, his noble presence, 
his polished manners, his culture, his good taste; 
but they only awakened memories that would 
not lie buried, and so turned into bitterness the 
sacred current of maternal love. How she pitied 
him, how she wished she might love him as 
other mothers love their sons! But she could 
only pray for him, and by assiduous care and 
watchfulness make his life as happy as she 
might, and sacrifice her own to save him from 
the evil day she foresaw, and would perhaps 
have no power to avert. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


^ 3 ^ 

He came back with the cold weathei , and told 
Madame Zoraya that he wished very much to 
spend the winter in Washington; he did not feel 
very well, and preferred the pleasant climate and 
congenial society of the Capital to any other 
place. He was reserved as to his brother. They 
were together, he told her, but a short time, and 
then separated; he supposed he had gone back 
to Europe. He was at times moody and irrita- 
ble, again riotously gay, by fits and starts. ‘ ‘ It 
is strange,” she thought, “they should have re- 
mained together so short a time, loving each 
other as they do. Perhaps they have quarrelled. ’ ’ 
But she asked no questions, and began to make 
preparations to go south. 

“It is my duty,” she said to herself, one day, 
when she was occupied in beautifying the home 
they had secured in Washington, “to do all that 
I can for his happiness. He shall never know 
the secret that would blight his life, unless it be 
forced from me to save his honor, and avert 
misery. There is but one sanctuary for such as 
he and I, but one safe refuge, where peace may 
be found. But, alas! my son’s faith is wrecked 
by the infidel tendencies of the age, which sur- 
rounded him when abroad — he shows a mocking 
scorn of religion and its usages; he holds him- 
self aloof from all that is sacred, and his books 
betray the studies which have moulded his prin- 
ciples. And yet I dread to question him. O, 
unhappy mother! how can I avert the heritage 
of woe which is his only birthright?” 


WARP AND WOOF. 


137 


*‘And now,” he said, after all was finished, 
and a rich hannony of color and arrangement- 
reigned throughout their dwelling, “you will 
show the world how to grace a house like this. 
You will go with me into society, that they may 
see what a beautiful mother I have. I am very 
proud of you, Madame ; I see none to equal you. ’ ’ 
He smiled winningly, and kissed her cheek, as 
he pleaded. 

“Impossible,” she answered, coldly; “I shall 
live as heretofore. To have a mother and a home 
like this will give you a better footing in the 
world. Make what excuse you please for me. 
Keep horses, give dinners, do as other people do, 
within the bounds of reason; but remember al- 
ways that the world and I are forever separated. ’ ’ 

He raved. He swore. He called her fanati- 
cal, and said that only aberration of mind could 
excuse and account for her unreasonable conduct. 

“Ket that, then, be the excuse if you will;” 
she said to him, unmoved, while her heart was 
surging with pity and anguish. He left her 
presence in a frenzy of rage, learning then and 
there, how useless it would be to attempt to 
change a will like iron; a will strengthened by 
the highest principles of religion and honor. 

Having presented certain letters, and joined a 
club to which his banker had introduced him, 
Eugene de St. Aignan was launched into Wash- 
ington society, where he made many friends; fci 
none could be more winning, none more lavish 


WARP AND WOOP. 


138 

and generous than he, while his education and 
manners, both showing the well-trained gentle- 
man, made his social* success certain. Then, 
pleased with himself, he made his peace with 
his mother, and plunged into the vortex of gayety, 
which, notwithstanding the war, was never more 
brilliant than now, never more maddening in its 
whirl. Madame Zoraya de St. Aignan saw but 
little of her son after this. Sometimes she drove 
out; daily she spent from one to two hours in a 
convent chapel, to which her good confessor had 
kindly obtained access for her. There she rested 
her weary heart, seeking by prayers and tears to 
calm its stormy reflections, its doubts, and its 
fears. She passed her evenings as we see her, 
half dreaming, half hoping that the time for the 
long, long rest she waited for, was in the near 
future. The Sacraments were the golden drops 
in her bitter cup that saved her from despair. 

A quick step fell along the hall; she started 
from her recumbent posture, as the door opened, 
and her son entered. He glanced around, but 
not seeing her, hidden as she was by the shad- 
ows, he was turning away, when she bade him 
come in. 

“I thought you had gone to bed, madame, 
my mother; it is so dark I did not see you,” he 
said, lighting the lamp, which flooded the room 
with its light. Then he drew a low chair 
towards her, and sitting down by her side, lifted 
her hand to his lips, and kissed it. There was a 


WARP AND WOOF. 


^39 


gentleness in his voice, and a nameless some- 
thing in his manner, that arrested her attention, 
her mind being ever on the alert for a forecast 
of the evil she awaited. 

“ My beautiful mother,” he said, looking from 
under the long, dark fringe of his eyelids, his 
eyes soft, lustrous, persuasive, like those she had 
never forgotten, ‘ ‘ I have come to-night to tell 
you something which, as it concerns my happi- 
ness, I hope will meet with your sympathy and 
approval. ’ ^ 

“Explain yourself,” she said, commanding 
her voice, though agitated. 

“Well, it is only this,” he answered, laugh- 
ing lightly: “I have gone the way of all flesh — 
I have fallen in love; I wish to bring you a 
daughter; in short, I intend to marry a lovely 
young lady, who has honored me with her pre- 
ference. She is of good family and position.” 

“ I saw you coming out of a house near Eafay- 
ette Square one day with a beautiful girl, as I 
drove past. Oh, yes, she was very beautiful, 
with golden hair and blue eyes, ’ ’ said Madame 
Zoraya, in a low tone scarcely above a whisper, 
while under her quilted satin robe her hand 
pressed heavily upon her heart. The crucial 
hour had come. 

‘ Yes! yes! ” he replied eagerly, while his eyes 
sparkled, “it was indeed she, my love, whose 
name suits her so well.” 

“Her name!” was the low response. 


140 


WARP AND WOOP. 


“Her name is Rose-Marie! Could Fia An- 
gelica have chosen a more suitable one for one 
of his Angels! Her father is a distinguished law- 
yer, a Mr. Hazelton, and they live just there 
where you saw us that day. Ah! when I bring 
home to you a daughter, my beautiful queen- 
mother, you will be obliged to come out of 
your solitude, like the evening star from behind 
a cloud,” he said, caressing her hand. Every 
word he said increased her pain. She must speak 
even if she died. 

“Oh, miserable boy!” she cried, rising from 
the pillow, against which her head was resting, 
“such a thing is impossible! Honor forbids it. 
I forbid it. It cannot, must not be.” 

‘ ‘ Mother, you would have been queen of trag- 
edy, had you not mistaken your vocation,” he 
said, in tones of keen sarcasm. “For heaven’s 
sake, drop for a little while the tragic rdle^ and 
descend to the level of common mortals. Why 
should not I, a man of good family and educa- 
tion, with ample means, marry, if such be my 
will. ’ ’ 

“Oh, my God, help me! The hour so long 
dreaded has come ! ’ ’ she exclaimed, clasping her 
temples which were throbbing wildly. ‘ ‘ Oh ! 
Eugene, I would have spared you, but now, now 
I dare not. My own life is a wreck; but through 
my silence no other trusting, innocent heart 
shall be broken. How gladly,” she said, laying 
her hand upon his head, and smoothing his soft, 


WARP AND WOOF. 


14T 

curling hair, while she gazed upon his face with 
a look of infinite, tender pity, “how gladly 
would I spare you, and be to you what otlier 
mothers are to their sons, when this turning 
point comes into their lives; but honor, con- 
science, nature, forbid.” 

“It will make no difference to me, whatever 
the chimera may be that has got hold of your 
disordered fancy. I love the girl I spoke of, and 
I mean to marry her, let who may dare say no. 
It is the most confounded nonsense I ever lis- 
tened to! ” he exclaimed. 

“Listen to me, then. Will you listen to me 
patiently?” she said, growing very white. 

“Yes, I will listen to what you have to say; 
but it will not in the least change my determina- 
tion, be assured of that,” he replied, his eyes 
flashing fire. 

“Listen, then. Your father deceived me when 
I was a pure, innocent girl, by a false marriage. 
You were born, and my happiness was complete; 
I had a beautiful home some few miles away from 
New Orleans, where with my old grandmother 
and my child, and long, frequent visits from my 
husband, the days passed like a summer dream; 
it was only a dream, that happiness from which 
I was rudely and suddenly awakened. A bright, 
joyous year and some few months had gone 
swiftly by, when news was brought to me one 
day that my husband had been married to the 
lady to whom he had been betrothed ever since 


142 


WARP AND WOOF. 


his boyhood; that his marriage with me was a 
mock ceremony, no more binding than a thread 
of sand. I could not, at first, comprehend such 
baseness; but at last it became clear to me, and 
that for me a — quadroon — there was no redress. 
Do you understand? I had, up to that time, 
been kept in perfect ignorance of my own birth, 
and of my connection with an unfortunate race. 
I was sent away in my early childhood to a con- 
vent in Canada to be educated; there I was 
taught the purest lessons of religion and of vir- 
tue, and in the good nuns had daily examples of 
the Christian life. My associates were refined, 
innocent, devout. I did not dream of evil; and 
so I returned to my home, ignorant of the ban 
upon my life, a knowledge from which my 
grandmother sedulously guarded me, there in 
Our secluded home, away from the world. How 
was I to know that the words of love, the prom- 
ises that after a time were breathed into my will- 
ing ears, were false? I had never known false- 
hood or deceit; and I was married with the 
consent of my grandmother, who, like myself, 
was deceived by Gabriel de St. Aignan — it was 
his mother’s maiden name he gave me, his real 
name being De Moret. I do not know how far 
my desperation would have driven me at first, for 
my very soul was darkened by the great wrong 
that had been done me and you ; but a brain- 
fever ensued, which wrapped everything in ob- 
livion, and was followed by a long and severe 
illness. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


143 


“During this period, tlie good old clergyman 
who had baptized me visited me daily, and 
tranquillized me in a degree by his counsels. I 
began to find in the Sacraments of our Faith a 
courage and support that saved me from despair, 
and in the Mother of Sorrows a consoler. When 
your father — ^his name until this night has never 
passed my lips, since I discovered the bitter 
wrong he had done — ^proposed, after the death of 
his wife, through my confessor, to take you, 
bring you up, educate you with his younger son, 
and acknowledge you before the world as his 
child, and without revealing the secret of your 
birth, to make no difference between you and 
your brother, I was advised to consent, and did 
so, thinking that I had no right to deprive you 
of such reparation as he could make. At the 
age of two years you were sent to him by a 
trusty agent. Fater on, I received a letter from 
him, offering reparation by marriage, and declar- 
ing that I alone had ever possessed his affections. 
It is needless to say that I spurned his offer with 
the contempt it merited; for what amends could 
ever heal my broken faith in mankind, and my 
ruined life? I hated — I loathed the being capa- 
ble of such baseness, though I had no thought 
of revenge; my loathing was like one of those 
natural and uncontrollable antipathies one feels 
towards an unclean, creeping reptile ; I felt that 
even the sight of him would kill me. I have 
kept the name of St. Aignan — ^liis mother’s— 


144 


WARP AND WOOF. 


wliicli lie gave me in the mock ceremony which 
united us — feeling that I had a right, before 
heaven at least, to do so, and I made it a condi- 
tion of your going to him that you should also 
bear the name. He has provided generously for 
you; but nothing can undo the stain on yonr 
birth. You see how impossible it is for you to 
marry, unless you mate with one of your own 
despised race — honor, religion, and the law for- 
bid it! for, perhaps, the worst remains for you to 
hear. We are slaves — ^yes, we! my grandmother 
and mother — who yet live — have never been 
freed, and the heirs of the old estate could put 
you and me into the slave-market to-morrow; 
the}^ are living, and not so rich as they used to 
be. We must be careful, for the ‘fugitive slave 
law’ would leave us no place of shelter in this 
broad land, should they get on our track,”* she 
said, with a wild, frightened look in her eyes. 

As Madame Zoraya de St. Aignan had pro- 
ceeded to relate the story of wrong and shame, 
of which she was the innocent victim, and 
which her son now heard for the first time, his 
head had slowly dropped forward, and leaning 
his elbows on his knees, he had covered his face 
with his hands ; but at her last words he sprang 
up, his face deadly white and drawn, a deep im- 
precation on his tongue. He walked up and 


* A most interesting case of this sort is related in the life 
of Bishop England of South Carolina. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


145 


down the length of the room, once or twice, 
every evil passion of his nature roused to sudden 
fury, and all that was best in him swept down as 
by a lava dood. She did not speak; her heart 
was overwhelmed with an infinite pity, and the 
thought, “Oh, that I might have spared him!” 
Presently his strong power of self-control as- 
serted itself, and he came back, resuming his 
seat near her, and said, in a low, concentrated 
tone: “I would have killed that man, had I 
known all this, instead of fawning upon him as 
I did. I loved the boy I grew up with — yes, I 
loved him; we were so alike that apart no one 
could tell one from the other, and we were both 
the image of his father. He bore his father’s 
name — I, yours. Such an arrangement is not 
unusual in European families, hence it never 
struck me as peculiar in my case. But I wanted 
to know where you were, my mother, who, I had 
learned by accident, still lived. I asked him, 
and he told me that it was your desire to Kve 
apart from him; then, when he was dying, he 
directed me where to find you. I knew there 
was a mystery of some sort; he left me to think 
what I might of you, and having forbade me to 
renew the subject, it was my best policy to re- 
main silent. But I loved Leonce! he gave up 
everything, he confided all to me; he shared 
everything with me, and was jealous and exac^ 
ing only for me. ’ ’ 

“Where is he?” she asked. 

5 * 


146 


WARP AND WOOF. 


“I do not know,” he replied, with a slighi 
shudder; “I have heard nothing from him for 
a year. But listen, my mother! I have not 
your scruples. I have heard all, but I am hu- 
man; I assert my freedom as a man, a gentle- 
man, and I don’t mean that my life shall be 
ruined by fears that may never be realized. Who 
knows our secret? — who need ever know it? I 
shall not alter my plans. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Do you mean that you will persist in marry- 
ing the young lady you told me of?” 

‘ ‘ That is exactly what I mean. I will marry 
her, and we shall live abroad.” 

“I forbid it! Cruel as it may appear, I forbid 
it!” said Madame Zoraya de St. Aignan, rising 
and standing pale and stern before him, and 
speaking with majestic authority: “not only do 
I forbid it, but, unless you yield, I will pre- 
vent it.” 

There was a fierce glitter in the young fellow’s 
eyes; he raised his clenched hands, as if to give 
her a blow in her face, but his arm dropped to 
his side. “Madame,” he said, in tones of calm, 
deep fury, “you — you have given me an accursed 
heritage ; that I can forgive, but it will not be 
safe for you to interfere between me and my 
present plans. By destroying my happiness, 
you’ll destroy my soul, if I have one; for I swear 
I will blow my brains out before your eyes, if 
you attempt it. ’ ’ 

“Oh, my son! my son! how the bitterness of 


WARP AND WOOF. 


W 

your lot wrings my heart! Come! let us go 
away to some far-distant land, you and I, anl 
live for one another, serving God by penitence 
and submission to our bitter cross. Oh, I will 
give you all a mother’s love, I will anticipate 
your every want, tend you and avert from you 
every ill that I can, and perhaps, after a time, 
peace may be ours,” she exclaimed, throwing 
her arms around him, and pressing her wet cheek 
to his. 

“It is too late,” he said, with a short, mock- 
ing laugh; “I have no material in me for such 
an Arcadian existence; my education has been 
neglected, madame. Had you not sent me away 
from you when I was an infant, I might at this 
moment be chanting noctums under a cowl ; but 
it is quite too late for me to unlearn my life. I 
am afraid the hot African blood that poisons my 
veins has given me passions like the wild beasts 
of the jungle. Good night, mother; may there 
be peace between us.” 

She heard him go out of the room and close 
the door; then all grew dark, she remembered 
nothing more. When the serv^ants came in, in 
the morning, they found her lying on the floor 
in a raging fever and delirium. The strain ha I 
been greater than heart and brain could bear. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


riS 


CHAPTER XL 

TANGDES IN THE WOOF. 

One morning Gerty Warner, having settled 
her household duties for the day, went into the 
sitting-room, intending to look over a new book 
which Uncle Max had brought her the day be- 
fore. It was “Joseph II.,” a novel by Louisa 
Muhlbach, which he recommended as being of 
surpassing interest, and added that “the fact of 
its having been brought out in the South at a 
time when the scarcity of materials and the 
blockade together seemed to make an enterprise 
of the smallest literary pretensions impracticable, 
would probably give it greater value as one of 
the curious features of the times. ’ ’ Printed on 
rough wall-paper, and bound with the same ma- 
terial, the volumes were indeed quaint-looking, 
and afforded an instance — as ‘ ‘ straws show which 
way the wind blows” — of the pluck of the 
South. There was something strangely list- 
less in Gerty’ s air, as she rolled her father’s 
chair to the fireside and dropped into it; she 
looked into the merry blaze of the wood fire, 
as if listening to its pleasant murmur, its 
crackling and snapping, which, she often said, 
reminded her of children laughing, when the 


WARP AND WOOF. 


149 


golden sparks went trooping up the black chim- 
ney like swarms of elfin fire-flies. She loved a 
wood fire, and declared that it had a language 
which she understood — that it was an idyl full of 
beautiful fancies, and altogether the most cheery, 
companionable thing in the world when one 
grew tired of commonplaces, and the monotony 
of daily life. But Gerty was giving no thought 
now to her pretty fancies, and remembering all 
at once what had brought her there, she opened 
her book and glanced over a portion of the open- 
ing chapter; then, as if her thoughts were tru- 
ant to her purpose, it dropped into her lap, her 
fingers between its pages, while something that 
sounded like a sigh escaped her lips. Resting 
her elbow on the arm of the chair, her chin on 
her hand, the dreamy expression of a minute 
ago appeared again in her eyes. Gerty Warner 
was not one given to moods or idle reverie ; she 
had no false sentimentality or misdirected ro- 
mance about her. Was she tired of her respon- 
sibilities in her father’s house — or what had 
happened? But her thoughts found voice: “I 
knew something disagreeable would come of it. 
I wish he had never come!” was what she said. 
Then, opening her book again, she determined 
to read off her vexation ; and while she is doing 
this we will look after Peter Jones, whom we 
have lost sight of for some time past. He now 
spent much of his time, when in the house, in 
his own room, excusing himself from joining the 


WARP AND WOOF. 


150 

family circle in the evening on the score of his 
studies; and, except now and then when his 
“ Straduarius’- was heard at night, like a musi- 
cal echo, so softly did he play — as if it were 
breathing the memories of a saddened soul — it 
remained silent in its case. No more musical 
evenings, no more impromptu concerts. The 
fact is, he was in love, as you may have imag- 
ined; but with his peculiarly nice sense of honor, 
he believed that this involuntary preference for 
Gerty Warner, to which he awoke one day, was 
somehow a breach of hospitality and confidence 
on his part towards his friendly entertainers, who 
had taken him, like a son and brother, into the 
bosom of their family. But, thrown every day 
into the society of this pure-minded, lovely girl, 
seeing her domestic virtues, her sweet filial 
affection, her unobtrusive piety, and delighting 
in her quick intelligence and culture, how was 
he to help himself? The growth of this senti- 
ment for Gerty had been spontaneous; it had 
stolen into his heart, he all the while thinking 
that his affection was that of a brother for a 
sister; there was, then, nothing left for him to 
do but to withdraw himself from her society as 
much as he could compatibly with his position 
as a guest of the family, which he did in the 
spirit of the Spartan boy who had stolen a fox, 
and held it tight under his cloak, even when he 
felt its sharp teeth gnawing his flesh. Peter 
Jones had other reasons for not openly seeking 


WARP AND WOOF. 


151 

a return of his love; he was trammelled by con- 
siderations other than his not having means to 
marry on, which were imperative, and which he 
could not explain. Gerty had noticed the change 
in him, and in her heart felt hurt by it, for she 
had learned in their daily and intimate inter- 
course of the last few months, to appreciate the 
true, noble nature of the man, his practical, un- 
pretentious devotion to the duties of his holy 
Faith, his mental superiority, his frankness, and 
gentle, yet manly ways — qualities which won 
her respect so fully that she had been once or 
twice surprised by the involuntary thought that 
‘‘a woman’s happiness would surely be safe in 
his keeping.” With woman’s swift instinct in 
such matters, she soon read his secret, which he 
betrayed in a thousand ways without being at all 
conscious of the significance of his looks and 
words; but she thought — “If he thinks best, for 
whatever reason, not to speak out, I am quite 
willing, and my life — after the first ripple — will 
go on all the same. I have enough to engage 
head, heart, and hands, thank God! for many — 
I hope — long years to come.” Then Gerty 
would go her way, up and down the house, 
singing some sweet little ditty, and filling out 
her days as usual in unselfish thoughts and acts 
for others, and doing always whatever she could 
to relieve the poor hearts that came to her fol 
assistance. 

“Something must be the matter with Peter 


152 


WARP AND WOOF. 


Jones, Gerty;” said Mrs. Warner to her one 
day, no one else being present; “what do you 
suppose it can be ? He has grown so quiet and 
grave, that I am quite worried over him. Do 
you think he is home-sick?” 

“He may be, mother. If he is, there’s no 
reason why he should not go home. ’ ’ 

“But you forget he’s to spend a year here, 
m}' child, and it has been only four months 
since he came. I am really very fond of him; 
he’s been very kind to me; I hope he’s not in 
trouble.” Mrs. Warner did not notice the deli- 
cate glow that suffused Gerty ’s face as she 
answered : 

‘ ‘ I hope not; I did not think of that. But you 
know, dear mother, we can’t ask him questions; 
it would seem as if we were prying into his af- 
fairs. He will probably take you into his confi- 
dence some time, when you and he are sitting 
here all alone; he’s very fond of you, and as one 
naturally goes to one’s mother with one’s 
trouble, he’ll be sure to come to you with his, 
for he says you have been a mother to him. ’ ’ 

This was the state of affairs in the Warner 
household up to the hour when Gerty took her 
seat in her father’s chair in the cheerful, flower- 
decked sitting-room, to drive away care by read- 
ing Muhlbach’s “Joseph II. ’ ’ Finding it impos- 
sible to do this, she dropped the book, saying: 
“I knew something disagreeable would come of 
it. I wish he had never come.” Having re- 


WARP AND WOOF. 


153 


lieved her mind somewhat by giving vent to her 
feelings, she began to read, bnt found herself 
more intent on what ran between the lines than 
on the sense of the printed words before her 
eyes. Before long, she heard the hall door 
open; she turned her head to see who it might 
be, but only in time to hear the servant say: 
‘ ‘ She is in. Please walk in ; I think Miss Gerty’s 
in the sitting-room.” In another moment the 
door was thrown open, and as quickly closed, 
and Rose-Marie Hazelton rushed in, and flung 
herself on her knees beside’ her, burying her 
face on her breast, where she wept and sobbed 
without saying a word. Gerty, unused to such 
scenes, was frightened; she could not rise, Rose- 
Marie held her in so close a clasp, or she would 
have sent some one up to her mother to ask if 
they might come to her room. That was her 
first thought, but as she could not get away to 
send her message, she put her arms around her 
friend, and begged her not to cry : “Was any- 
thing the matter with poor little Don?” she 
asked, for she imagined that he had fallen out of 
the window and broken his neck, or, possibly, 
had died in the night of croup. 

“Oh, no! no!” she sobbed. 

“But what is the matter, darling? Tell me, 
that I may know how to help you.” 

“No! no! no!” 

“Well, then, get up, and sjt in this nice, low 
chair, and let me get you some wine, or water. 


154 


WARP AND WOOF. 


or tea, ot something. There, now tell me youi 
trouble. You’ll really break my heart, going on 
in this wild way. What is it, darling?” 

“I am mad, Gerty Warner,” burst from the 
girl’s beautiful lips; “so mad that I’d like to kill 
somebody.” She did indeed look like a fury, 
with her swollen eyes, her tear-stained counten- 
ance distorted with rage. 

“Oh, Rose-Marie! you don’t mean anything 
so dreadful 1 ’ ’ exclaimed Gerty, in whom the re- 
vulsion of feeling was so sudden that she laughed 
when she knew that she ought to cry. All those 
precious tears wasted, all that emotion and fer- 
ment of the vital forces, because the pretty, 
spoiled young lady was mad enough to kill some- 
body. It was absurd, as well as sad, and Gerty 
wished she had not laughed. 

“Rose-Marie,” she said gravely, “I must 
know what throws you into this state. I have 
the right of a friend to ask, since you have come 
to me. How can I help you if you don’t explain 
things to me?” 

“You can’t help me, anyhow, not even if you 
knew. I came to you because I had no mother 
to fly to with my grief There’s nobody there 
but the servants. Who had I to go to, then, 
but you, Gerty?” she wailed, covering her face 
with her hands. 

“Ret me try to help you, poor little sister; 
you know I love .you,” said Gerty, standing at 
her side and drawing the girl’s head to hex 
breast. “Who has wounded you like this?” 


WARP AND WOOF. 


155 


“My father did. Oh, yes! he has left me 
alone all my life, to do just as I please ever since 
I can remember, and never meddled with me in 
the least until now — now, just when I was as 
happy as could be, he comes in to-day, an hour 
ago, and gives me such a furious settling down, 
you never heard the like, all about Eugene de 
St. Aignan ; and he forbade me ever to see him 
again, and made me listen to a letter he had 
written and was going to send him, telling him 
that for the future his door was closed against 
him. Such an insulting letter! and all for noth- 
ing except some rubbishy reports that have been 
stirred up by the busy bodies of Washington! 
But I don’t care a snap; if I can’t see him in 
my Other’s house, I can see him out of it. It 
is unreasonable ! Oh, Gerty! Gerty ! what shall 
I do?” 

“Obey your father’s commands. He has 
good reasons, you may be sure, for doing what 
he has. If he has been mistaken or heard false 
reports about your — the gentleman — it will all 
come right, depend upon it; so be patient and 
wait. ’ ’ 

“I won’t be patient, and I won’t wait!” ex- 
claimed the self-willed creature; “and I won’t 
be preached to, Gerty Warner.” 

‘ ‘ Rose-Marie, answer me one question. When 
were you at confession?” 

“It is none of your business! Oh, Gertv! 
Gerty! if you only knew how unhappy I am. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


156 

You’d pity me if you did!” she cjied, bursting 
into a passionate fit of weeping. 

‘ ‘ There is one who knows — our compassionate 
Mother of Help, who will pity and succor you 
better than I or any one else on earth can, if 
you’ll only go to her; aye, she will guard you 
from threatened perils, seen and unseen, and 
guide you safely back to the feet of her divine 
Son,” said Gerty, in grave, sweet tones. 

How can I think of such things when I’m 
so tossed and distracted, and so mad?” 

“Now’s the very time. How else can you 
hope for, or find comfort ? Go right straight to 
Father Vincent, acknowledge your faults in the 
tribunal of penance, and our Blessed Tady will 
be your help and strength,” said Gerty, folding 
Rose-Marie’ s hands in hers, and speaking with 
emotion. 

“Gerty, you are very good, but you have 
never been placed as I am. Good-bye. ’ ’ 

“Not until you promise me, on your honor, 
not to see your lover clandestinely, or against 
your father’s wishes.” 

“Not clandestinely,” she said, with a haughty 
toss of her head: “I know too well what is due 
myself for that; but against his wishes, I cer- 
tainly shall ; for after what has passed between 
my father and me, he will never give in — neither 
will I.” Before Gerty could say another word, 
Rose-Marie was gone, leaving her shocked and 
dazed beyond expression. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


157 


“Here’s work for Dave,” slie almost whis- 
pered; “I shall have to tell him, that he may be 
on the alert, in case her folly leads her too far. 
He can but try to avert danger from her, should 
it really come. If she goes on like this, who 
can foresee the end? My God! how I thank 
Thee for good parents! Poor Rose-Marie! Oh, 
Blessed Rady of Perpetual Help! be thou mother 
and defence to her misguided feet, and lead her 
back by thy love to the paths from which she 
has gone astray. ’ ’ 

Gerty Warner covered her face with her hands, 
and relieved her full heart by having a good ory. 
“Oh!” she thought, “how insignificant my 
worries appear beside the dreadful danger that 
threatens that poor girl’s untried, undisciplined 
soul!” 

She heard her father’s step in the hall, and 
waiting until he got by, she ran upstairs to 
bathe her eyes, then hurried back to give him 
lunch, and make everything as cheerful as she 
might, by talking of all the agreeable things she 
could think of Dave and Peter Jones had gone 
on a long tramp among the defences across the 
river, and would not be home until late, which 
was a relief to Gerty. 

Who of all his friends had been true enough 
to go to Mr. Hazelton and tell him that people 
were making too free with his daughter’s name 
by circulating reports, making comments on her 
engagement to a foreigner whom she had nevet 


WARP AND WOOF. 


158 

seen until two months ago, and about whom 
public sentiment agreed there hung something 
of a mystery? Not one. It was a delicate mat- 
ter to interfere in, they thought, so each one held 
his peace, wishing that another would do it — Max 
Ashton, for instance. It was a delicate mission 
to perform; but admitting the girl’s danger, a 
friend should no more have hesitated to act than 
if he had seen her drowning, and leaped into 
the water to save her life at the risk of his own. 

On the morning Rose-Marie had rushed so 
distractedly into Gerty Warner’s presence, Mr. 
Hazelton had gone to his office, feeling an un* 
usual degree of satisfaction and cheerfulness, 
having had a very complicated case, tedious 
and bristling with difficulties throughout, de- 
cided in favor of his clients the day before. He 
sat down to his table and began to turn over 
some letters his clerk had just brought in, 
when his attention was suddenly attracted by a 
woman’s delicate handwriting on a fine French 
envelope, addressed to himself. He opened it 
and found only a few lines without signature — 
an anonymous letter — and with a contemptuous 
“Pshaw!” he was about dropping it into the 
waste-basket, when his attention was arrested by 
the words: “Your daughter’s happiness.” As 
his daughter’s happiness was very dear to him, 
and as he had always thought he was best secur- 
ing it by leaving her at liberty to do as she 
pleased, and supplying her generously with 


WARP AND WOOF. 


159 


Spending-money, he wondered why any one 
should write to him anonymously in regard to 
her or her happiness, and instead of throwing 
the note away, he read it. “Be careful^” it ran, 
“of your daughter’s happiness, or it will ere 
long be ruined by a fatal marriage with one 
whose family origin places an insuperable bar 
between them. Be warned by one whose sole 
motive is to save her from wretchedness, and 
another from crime.” 

“What confounded nonsense is all this?” ex- 
claimed Mr. Hazelton, springing up as if sud- 
denly touched with a hot iron. “A marriage! 
Rose-Marie! I have heard no hint of such a 
thing. It is a mischievous lie; I don’t believe 
it, and yet it forces itself upon me that there’s 
more than appears under this. I trust in God 
my girl has not gone and got herself entangled 
in an affair that will make trouble. How am I 
to know? How can one meet an anonymous 
letter? How find out whether it is true or false? 
I must ask somebody questions and counsel — 
yes — Max Ashton is the best one to go to. He’ll 
be sure to know if there are any rumors afloat 
about Rose-Marie’ s going to be married — pshaw! 
— it seems too absurd for belief; but I’ll show 
Ashton this confounded note, and see what he 
thinks about it. ’ ’ And placing the note in his 
pocket, he put on his overcoat and hat, and 
hurried across the square towards Max Ashton’s 
office, and, happily for his purpose, found him 
in, and not particularly engaged. 


l6o WARP AND WOOF. 

“I’ve come to see you, Aslitoii, about some- 
thing that has just happened. I found an 
anonymous letter in my mail this morning; 
there it is,” said Mr. Hazel ton, handing it to 
him; “read it, will you, and tell me if you think 
it amounts to anything.” 

Max Ashton read the note, but did not imme- 
diately reply. 

“Ashton, I see that you are embarrassed — you 
hesitate! Tell me, I demand it of you, tell me 
frankly, whether you have or have not heard 
any rumors of such a thing as that letter in your 
hand refers to;” said Mr. Hazel ton, in a voice 
of suppressed anger and emotion. 

Max Ashton was embarrassed; the situation 
was painful to him in the extreme; for if he said 
too little, now that he was asked to speak by 
the girl’s father, he would fail in his duty to- 
wards a friend; and if he told him that his 
daughter’s name was being passed from mouth 
to mouth with reports that left invidious impres- 
sions, because the slender thread of truth that 
ran through them made the lies that garnished 
them appear more probable, he did not know to 
what extremity Mr. Hazelton, who was a pas- 
sionate man when roused, would go. He really 
found it difficult to speak. 

“You have heard something, Ashton; tell me, 
I entreat you, what is it? I wish to know at 
once. ’ ’ 

“One is always hearing rumors about beau- 


WARP AND WOOP. 


l6l 

tiful girls being engaged to be married to tliis 
or that one of her lovers, and Rose-Marie has 
not escaped, ’ ’ lie answered. 

“Engaged! to whom, do they say? DonH be 
afraid to tell me the truth, Ashton. ’ ’ 

“I have heard that she is engaged to a Mr. 
Eugene de St. Aignan, who has been very de- 
voted to her ever since the season opened, at 
vhich time, I understand, he first came to 
Washington. He’s a fine-looking, handsome 
fellow, who has been much courted in society, 
but who he is, nobody exactly knows. No one 
can lay a finger on anything against him, but 
the doubt follows him like a shadow. There’s 
probably no truth at all that things have gone 
so far as the note intimates, and it may be that 
it was penned by some jealous, envious girl, to 
make trouble.” 

“I don’t think so. I’m going straight home 
to my daughter to question her. She never 
deceived me; and she has one of those brave, 
audacious natures, that would own up to the 
ti uth, if she was shot for it the next minute. ’ ’ 
“Don’t be too harsh with her. Hazel ton. It 
is a case, remember, which for her sake will 
require very delicate management. Publicity 
must be avoided at all risks. Rose-Marie has 
only been thoughtless; I’m sure it’s no worse 
than that, and much can be excused of one who 
has never known a mother’s care,” said Max 
Ashton. 

6 


t 62 


WARP AND WOOF. 


“I’ll hear what she has to say, Ashton, and 
if she admits there’s anything serious in the re- 
port of her engagement to that fellow. I’ll for- 
bid her ever seeing him again, and inform him 
by letter that the doors of my house are closed 
against him. Then, if that don’t put a stop to 
it. I’ll shoot him! ” 

‘ ‘ Let me entreat you to be very prudent and 
careful, my friend: you know human nature is 
prone to contrariness, and may be driven by un- 
wise treatment to desperate things.” 

“I’ll see that my daughter doesn’t disgrace 
herself by an improper marriage, ’ ’ he answered 
in a stem voice. He wrung Max Ashton’s hand 
and went away, leaving the quiet bachelor in an 
agitated state of mind. 

Rose-Marie was at home, and we have seen 
how stormy must have been the interview she 
had with her father, by the way it affected her 
when she went to pour out her griefs to Ger- 
trude Warner. I will further explain, by way 
of untangling the threads of my woof, that the 
note Mr. Hazel ton received was from Madame 
Zoraya de St. Aignan, who had recovered from 
her temporary delirium and fever, but continued 
feeble, and was tortured by unceasing anxiety 
about her son’s intentions regarding his marriage 
with the beautiful girl he had named to her as 
his affianced wife; he had told her that his pur- 
pose was unchanged, and that the event would 
take place in a very short time. Again she 


WARP AND WOOF. 


163 

pleaded with him to desist while there was yet 
time, but he said with an oath there was no 
power that could prevent his carrying out his 
plans to the uttermost. He knew that she was 
too feeble to make any personal effort to thwart 
him, but he also knew that she could bring his 
purpose to naught just as effectually by writing; 
and he gave orders to the servants to bring any 
letters given them by Madame, his mother, to 
him, and he would mail them with his own. 
She felt, somehow, a sense of being under es- 
pio7tage^ and was fully aware that her son was 
crafty enough to prevent, until it should be 
too late, a communication from herself reach- 
ing any one outside. But, knowing how much 
depended on her interference, and how disas- 
trous the results that would follow if she did 
not bestir herself, she hit upon a plan by which 
she hoped, with heaven’s help, to , break 
off a marriage which would on one side be a 
crime, and on the other cause inevitable mis- 
ery. She wrote a brief note to Mr. Hazleton, 
and knowing the letter-carrier’s hour for passing 
morning and afternoon, she determined to watch 
her opportunity to drop it from her window to him. 
Two days passed; she saw the carrier come and 
go up and down his route, but her maid happened 
to be in her room each time; on the afternoon of 
the third day, however, the woman asked per- 
mission to visit her mother, who had been seized 
with some sudden illness, and she was alone. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


164 

There was a drizzling rain, and the day was dark 
and gloomy; but few persons were passing as she 
stood watching for the carrier, the letter in hand, 
ready to throw to him the moment he came near 
enough. She saw him turn the corner on the 
opposite side; he crossed over, stopped at one or 
two doors to deliver letters, and walked quickly 
towards her house. As she threw up her win- 
dow it attracted his attention, and he looked up; 
she dropped her letter, he took it up, nodded his 
head to her, meaning that it should be mailed 
safely, and went his way, for there was nothing 
remarkable to his mind in a lady’s tossing him a 
letter for the post from her window, in the prob- 
able absence of her servants. It was done, and 
Madame Zoraya, overcome with agitation by her 
effort and success, staggered to her bed and lay 
down white and trembling, whispering Aves out 
of her heart’s fulness that what she had done 
might not be too late to avert the evil she 
dreaded. 

Several days after this series of events, Gerty 
Warner was sitting alone in her own room, and 
not in the blithest of moods — don’t be shocked, 
fastidious reader — darning socks, while her 
thoughts were quite as busy as her fingers. ‘ ‘ I 
wish I could mend some things that go wrong, 
as easily as I do these holes,” was the thought 
that had just passed through her mind, when 
Rachel came to the door. 

“Miss Rose-Marie wants to see you, Miss 


WARP AND WOOP. 165 

Gerty, and says can she come up here?” said 
Rachel. 

“Oh yes, indeed; tell her to run right up.” 

The pretty, wilful creature, after the usual kiss 
and embrace were over, dropped into a low, sew- 
ing chair, and having inquired how “Mamma 
Warner” — as she had always called her — was, 
and “where Davy had been keeping himself 
this age past? ” told Gerty that she had just run 
in to look at her, and could not stay five minutes, 
as she had an engagement with a friend. And 
her face grew so rosy red, and her countenance 
wore so exulting a look, while defiance sparkled 
in her eyes, as she spoke, that Gerty felt con- 
vinced this ‘ ‘ friend ’ ’ was none other than de St. 
Aignan. She asked her downright if it were so. 

“And what if it should be? My father has 
forbidden me to receive him, and ordered him 
not to darken his doors again; but I majde no 
promise, remember, that would prevent my see- 
ing him elsewhere, and I mean to do it,” she 
said, in defiant tones. 

Then, with the tenderness and frankness of a 
true friend, Gerty again spoke, telling her the 
danger she ran by encouraging, in open opposi- 
tion to her father’s commands, a man whom no 
one seemed to know. She reminded her that 
she was a “Child of Mary,” whose pure heart 
she would grieve by her disobedience, and whose 
sweet example she no longer regarded; she 
touched gently on the gossip that was going on 


x66 


WARP AND WOOF. 


ill society about the affair, and tbe more than 
possibility that the exaggerated reports that were 
rife might at last assail her fair name. 

“What do the dear creatures say?” she said, 
with an angry laugh; “do they say that I am as 
mad as Cassandra, and as foolish as hoCs wife? 
That’s out of a book. But what do I care? I 
found out long ago that my dolls were stuffed 
with saw-dust, so let them all say and do what 
they please, the tiger-cats! I don’t mean to be 
robbed of my happiness to gratify them or any- 
body else.” 

Once more Gerty pleaded with and counselled 
her; fast flowing tears attesting her deep concern, 
and then there was another scene. Rose-Marie, 
although touched, and obliged by her own con- 
science to admit the truth of her friend’s words, 
would promise nothing. Her father’s conduct 
in the affair had been wholly unreasonable, she 
said, and she did not mean to submit to it. 
After saying much more after the same fashion, 
she hugged and kissed Gerty, told her she loved 
her dearly and didn’t mind her scolding in the 
least, and happen what might, her friendship 
and Dave’s were the two things she would prize 
and cling to to the happy or — maybe — bitter end. 

“You shall never claim it in vain, Rose- 
Marie, but under the circumstances I cannot be 
your confidant in the affair. Do not tell me 
anything else about it, unless you yourself find 
that it is all wrong and I can help you out of 
the difficulty.” 


WARP AND WOOF. 


167 

“Very well. That’s a thing you can safely 
promise, for I think I’m all right. Good-bye.” 
And she tripped away with a not too easy heart, 
to meet her friend. 

When Gerty went to her mother’s room to 
read to her, there was a look of trouble in her 
face which Mrs. Warner was quick to see. 
There was perfect friendship and confidence be- 
tween mother and daughter; their love for each 
other was strong and deep, and a sacred thing, 
consecrating their daily intercourse. The first 
words she said were: “Gerty, my child, sit 
here by me, and tell me what is in your mind. ’ ’ 

“Yes, mother, willingly. I am greatly troubled 
about Rose-Marie. I’m afraid she’s getting her- 
self into deep waters, and I can’t see how I am 
to help her. ’ ’ 

“Nor I, unless you talk plainly to her, not 
sparing her through false sentiment, and counsel 
her in a way best suited to her case. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I have done so, mother, at the risk of her 
never speaking to me again; I told her all that 
was in my heart, and warned her. She was de- 
fiant and angry, then tried to laugh it off, and 
sobbed with her arms around my neck, like a 
child. But she really told me nothing — that is, 
not much — and I’m just as sure as can be that 
her lover will end by persuading her to run off 
with him or marry him clandestinely.” 

“Nonsense! where did you pick up such ro- 
mantic ideas, Gerty ? People in novels do such 


i68 


WARP AND WOOF. 


things, but a well-brought-up young lad}' like 
Rose-Marie ! N onsense ! ’ ’ 

“She has not been well brought up, more’s 
the pity. She has been having her own way 
ever since she can remember. Now she resents 
her father’s interference in her love affair, and is 
defiant of his control. I have met her walking 
with Mr. St. Aignan, and I know she sees him 
at houses they both visit, where his attentions 
are so conspicuous as to attract every one’s atten- 
tion. ’ ’ 

“Does she love him, do you think?” 

“ I do not know. She told me once or twice 
that it was only a flirtation, and hoped I’d make 
no more fuss about it. She said, too, if her 
father had not forbidden her to receive the 
gentleman at home, things would not have 
gone so far as they have; but as their doors 
had been closed on him without the shadow 
of an excuse, she felt that she owed him 
some reparation for the insult. I asked her 
— indeed, mother, I did — ^when she had been to 
confession, but she would not tell me; then I 
begged her to go, and for poor little Don’s sake 
to be prudent. She told me to keep my advice 
to myself, she would ask for it when it was 
needed, and ended by laughing at me, and say- 
ing I would grow to be a frumpy, meddlesome 
old maid, if I didn’t take care. Now, mother, 
what can be done with such a being?” asked 
Gerty, with tears in her eyes. 


WARP AND WOOP. 


169 

“Not much I fear, except to pray to our 
Blessed Lady to shield her from evil. You must 
not give her up, but go to see her whenever you 
can, Gerty, never minding her petulant ways, 
and sharp, saucy speeches. She doesn’t mean 
to be unkind, and behaves so, I am very sure, be- 
cause she is ill at ease,” said Mrs. Warner. 

‘ ‘ And oh, mother, people are whispering such 
unkind things of her! If I could only help her, 
if I could just think of something before it is 
too late!” exclaimed Gerty. 

“We can ask without ceasing the intercession 
of Our Lady of Perpetual Succor for her, and 
offer our Communions also, that she may be de- 
livered out of this entanglement,” Mrs. Warner 
answered in low, reverent tones. Her mother’s 
sympathy somewhat lightened Gerty’ s heart, 
that had still its own secret battles to fight; but 
they were her own, and would pain only herself, 
until with God’s help she conquered self, and 
could once more walk unshackled in the paths 
of duty. 

The following week Captain Warner spoke of 
his intention of attending the closing ball of the 
season. He had to all appearance grown very 
gay in the last month, never missing an enter- 
tainment, and frequently attending two or three 
the same evening. Mr. Warner noticed this new 
departure, and said: “What in the world has got 
into Davy, lately? He is never satisfied nowa- 
days unless he’s at a ball or something. I 
thought he didn’t much care for such things.” 


170 


WARP AND WOOF. 


“It amuses him, I suppose. He tells me a 
great many diverting things he meets in Vanity 
Fair. Poor fellow, he’ll soon be going South 
again, and I’m glad he can enjoy himself,” ob- 
served Mrs. Warner. 

“Enjoyment is not his only object,” added 
Gerty. “I don’t think he finds very much 
pleasure in them.” 

‘ ‘ He has lost his heart, I suppose. Ah well ! ’ ’ 
sighed Mrs. Warner; “it was to be expected. 
But I wish he had met his fate a little later on ; 
he’s going away so soon now that I’d like to see 
as much of him as possible.” 

Captain Dave did not enjoy the gayeties he fre- 
quented, nor was he in love. But whenever 
there was a probability that Rose-Marie would 
be present at an entertainment, there went he, 
and, without seeming to intend it, not unfre- 
quently warded off the assiduous attentions of 
Eugene de St. Aignan, placing himself between 
them when he could do so without attracting at- 
tention, doing his best to monopolize her, not 
caring for the scowls of her angry lover, or no- 
ticing his somewhat aggressive manner. Even 
when he heard people whisper “the rivals,” 
and laugh softly while they glanced towards 
him, he did not care; his object was to guard 
her as far as he could, seeing how defenceless, 
and knowing how impulsive she was. He was 
not in love with the beautiful, thoughtless girl; 
she was his old playmate, the friend of his sister, 


WARP AND WOOF. 


171 

and under all the surface faults of her life, he 
knew there was an aflfectionate, pure nature, full 
of good but ungoverned impulses. 

He went to the ball at Secretary Blank’s, at 
which, being the last of the season, there was a 
perfect crush; for some time he saw nothing of 
Rose-Marie. She was present, he knew, for he 
had heard one young lady say to another: “Did 
you notice, Bella, how very pale Rose-Marie 
Hazel ton is to-night ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, indeed; and I don’t think she looked 
too happy. She’s the strangest girl I ever knew. 
I wonder if St. Aignan is here ? ’ ’ 

“I don’t know; I have not seen him, but oh, 
dear! there’s such a jam; it’s cruel to bring 
such a mob together.” 

Captain Warner did not turn his head to as- 
certain who the ladies were that had spoken; 
what he had heard was sufficient for his purpose, 
and he slowly edged his way through the crowds 
of elegantly-dressed people, who were surging 
through the rooms; stopped now and then by 
friends, detained here and there by ladies, who 
would gladly have inveigled him into joining 
their party, intent all the time on the one thing 
that brought him there, and moving almost im- 
perceptibly, until at length he reached the wide 
arched, door- way that gave him a view of the 
ball-room, where a number of couples were 
waltzing to the beautiful strains of the music of 
Strauss. He leaned against a pillar to rest his 


172 


WARP AND WOOF. 


lame ankle a moment, and as lie did so, Rose- 
Marie flashed past, whirling along so swiftly 
that he could only see that the man with whom 
she was waltzing was not St. Aignan. Presently 
the music ceased, and most of those who had 
been dancing so merrily, visited the refreshment 
room, and Captain Warner saw that Rose-Marie 
had taken a seat just inside the draperies of a 
bow- window. There was no one with her; she 
had dismissed her partner, telling him in her 
pleasantly impertinent way, that she “was too 
tired to talk to him, and only wanted to rest, 
and get cool — no, thanks, no ices, if you please, 
but go away, and eat, drink, and be merry. ’ ’ 

Captain Warner walked down the room towards 
her; he saw that she was very pale, and thought 
that her eyes had a half frightened expression in 
them as she glanced around, as if momentarily 
expecting some one. A group of ladies saunter- 
ing by, stopped, and hid her an instant from 
him; when they passed on, he found himself 
quite near her. He stopped, and was going to 
speak and shake hands in the old, friendly way; 
but she interrupted him, her voice and manner 
indicating that his presence had startled her, and 
was not agreeable. 

“Oh! is it you?” she said, without a sign of 
pleasure at seeing him. 

“Yes, indeed; I thought I should never find 
you,” he answered, gayly; “you look tired; 
wouldn’t yon like to come out of this heavy at- 
mosphere ? Suppose we go to the conservatory ?’ ’ 


WARP AND WOOF. 


173 


“Oil, no! thanks; it does very well here;” 
she said, coldly. 

“You are separated from your party, I see; 
may I sit here until they come, or you wish to 
rejoin them?” 

“No: you are watching me, Davy Warner, 
all the time; I feel, even when I don’t see you, 
that I am under your surveillance ; I tell you 
plainly I do not like it, or thank you for it. 
What right have you to do it ? ” she said, petu- 
lantly. 

“None at all; I only want you to know I’m 
on hand should you need me, and by my devo- 
tion give people something new to talk about;” 
he answered, in quiet tones. 

“How very kind,” she said, with a curl of 
her lip; “don’t feel obliged to keep a foolish 
promise; it is not likely that I shall need you, 
now or ever, so I release you entirely from it. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Shall I go away ? ” 

“Yes, please; I am out of sorts, Davy, and 
very disagreeable. Don’t be angry with me if 
you can help it;” her lips quivered, and she 
held out her hand, saying: “Good-bye and 
good-night. ’ ’ 

Captain Warner, familiar with her caprices, 
and just a little provoked, held her hand an in- 
stant, bade her good evening and left her. But 
her words: “Good-bye and good-night,” her 
pale face, and the frightened look that came and 
went in her eyes, followed him; he had never iii 


174 


WARP AND WOOF. 


all lier moods seen her in one just like this; 
what did it mean ? “Good-bye and good-night!” 
He looked at his watch, it was half-past eleven; 
the guests were all to leave at twelve, so as not 
to desecrate Ash Wednesday, which midnight 
would usher in. The wife of the Secretary was 
a devout Catholic, and the hour for coming and 
going had been printed on the cards of invita- 
tion. Captain Warner strolled into the sup- 
per-room, ate some stewed terrapin and drank 
a glass of wine, had a few words of pleasant 
chat with some of the young belles he had 
been meeting at entertainments here and there 
since the season began, then got away and 
went up to the gentlemen’s dressing-room for 
his wraps, thinking to get off before the rush 
homewards began. He put on his overcoat 
and fur collar, and with cap in hand was 
making his way along the dimly-lighted hall, 
when he saw a cloaked and veiled figure 
standing at the head of the great stair-case, as 
if irresolute whether to go or stay. He would 
have passed on, but with a low sob she ran to 
him and grasping his hand, whispered: “Oh, 
Davy! Davy! just in time!” 

“Good Heavens, Rose-Marie! What is the 
matter ? Shall I take you home ? ’ ’ 

“No! no! not home. Is your coupe here? 
Tell me quick, for the people are beginning to 
come up.” 

“Yes.” 


WARP AND WOOF. 


175 


“Put me ill it, and take me to Gerty! Oli 
Davy, make kaste before my courage fails. I 
can’t — I can’t do it” — she said, in low fright- 
ened accents. 

Not another word was spoken. With his 
strong arm around her, for she was almost faint- 
ing, and almost. sooner than I can tell it, he had 
borne her out, and through the line of carriages, 
near the sidewalk to the opposite side of the 
street, where his coupe was stationed, opened the 
door, assisted her in, and seating himself by her 
side, directed the coachman to drive home as 
quickly as the horse could go. 

“I wonder what on earth it all means,” ex- 
claimed Captain Dave when he found that Rose- 
Marie had fainted, and was leaning white and 
helpless against his shoulder. “ It must be that 
late hours and constant excitement have broken 
her down, poor little thing! ” 

Yes, she had fainted, and could tell him 
nothing; and when she recovered she was lying 
on Gerty Warner’s bed, with Captain Dave on 
one side and Gerty on the other, chafing her 
hands, and frightened nearly out of their senses. 
vShe looked at them both, threw her arms around 
Gerty’ s neck, sobbing as if her heart would 
break, then turned to Captain Dave and begged 
him to send a note to her father, telling him 
where she was, before he found a letter she had 
left for him on the library table. 

“I’ll go myself; it will be best,” he said, in 
his straightforward way. 


176 


WARP AND WOOF. 


“ Oil, dear Davy, liow good and kind you are! 
You have saved me!” she sobbed. And Captain 
Dave, not knowing how or from what he had 
saved her, did not stop to ask questions, but has- 
tened off through the sleet and rain and stormy 
winds, as heedless of them as of the midnight 
darkness, to see Mr. Hazelton and tell him that 
Rose-Marie would spend the night with his 
sister. 

Mr. Hazelton was up, looking haggard and 
excited, and himself answered the hall-door bell; 
and when Captain Dave had delivered his mes- 
sage, the strong man covered his face with his 
hands, and wept like a child. 

“Come in, Warner! The news you bring me 
is by far the best I ever had. My God! I have 
been so tortured with fury and remorse ever 
since I read the letter that poor, foolish, mother- 
less child left on my library table for me, that I 
believe I should have blown my brains out be- 
fore daylight if you hadn’t come. I blame my- 
self! I have neglected her too much; she had 
no guide, no training, and what she has said is 
just. Come in, Davy, for a moment, and tell 
me everything.” 

But Captain Warner, who had been so active 
in this little drama, did not know yet what it 
was all about, until after they got into the 
library and were seated. Mr. Hazelton gave 
him Rose-Marie’ s letter to read. Then he 
learned that she had intended to elope from the 


WARP AND WOOF. 


177 


ball with lier lover, Eugene de St. Aignan, and 
be married immediately by a magistrate, before 
any attempt could be made to interrupt or follow 
them. “Our destination,” she wrote, “is Eu- 
rope. Take better care of poor little Don, dear 
papa, than you took of me, your wayward child. 
R-M.” 

Then Captain Dave was able, now that he 
had got hold of the clew, to tell Mr. Hazelton 
how, at the very last, her heart had failed her, 
and, dreading to come home on account of the 
letter she had left for him, she had asked him to 
take her to his sister. 

“Poor little girl! Warner, I shall have to 
shoot that fellow!” 

‘ ‘ Be thankful, Mr. Hazelton, that she is safe. 
What good would shooting him do? It would 
only blazon the affair to the world. He’ll make 
no further attempt to win Rose-Marie;. She 
gave him up voluntarily, and he will dread the 
ridicule of society too much to talk of the affair. 
He can do nothing. Eet it all die a natural 
death. ’ ’ , 

“There’s something in what you say, Warner; 
I’ll think it over. Thank you a thousand 
times, and give my love to my daughter. I 
will see her to-morrow.” Then they shook 
hands, and Captain Dave went home, bearing 
messages of love and forgiveness to the erring 
and repentant girl; Mr. Hazelton returning to 
his library, where he remained until day-dawn, 
6 * 


WARP AND WOOF. 


178 

reviewing his past with newly-opened eyes, and 
making resolves which he meant, with God’s 
help, to keep — not the least important of which 
was his determination to return to the Faith he 
had since his early manhood abandoned for the 
piirsuit of wealth and honors. 


WARP AND WOOP. 


170 


CHAPTER XIL 

A DISCOURSE ON EOVE. A MYSTERY SOEVED. 

White Captain Warner was absent on liis 
midnight errand to Mr. Hazelton, Rose-Marie 
poured out her heart to Gerty without reserve. 
She confessed in broken accents that, smarting 
and resentful under the interdict laid by her 
father on all future intercourse with her lover, 
she had recklessly yielded to his persuasions to 
meet him, now in Jackson Square, and some- 
times on the street, when they took long walks 
together; occasionally they met by mutual 
arrangement at ‘‘kettledrums” and afternoon 
lunch parties, where she accepted his attentions 
as usual, and allowed him to escort hef home, 
thereby openly defying her father’s commands, 
deceiving and disobeying him, and thus weaving 
closer and closer the meshes which placed her in 
St. Aignan’s power. She had misgivings, it is 
true, and her conscience warned her at every 
false step, until, sometimes weary of it all, she 
almost determined to break off the affair en- 
tirely; but having gone so far, how could she 
retrace her steps? Finally, in a reckless mo- 
ment, she consented to end all doubt and uncer- 
tainty by eloping with her lover from Mrs. Sec- 


WARP AND WOOF. 


t8o 

retary Blank’s Shrove-Tuesday ball. The plan 
was for him not to appear at the ball, but to be 
in waiting with his mother’s carriage, which the 
coachman was instructed to drive up the moment 
her own was called for, when she wsls to be 
ready to step into it from the carpeted pavement. 
This arrangement was made easy by the fact that 
Mr. Hazel ton’s coachman had received a message 
from his young mistress shortly after she ar- 
rived at Mrs. Blank’s, saying, “he might go 
home, as she meant to return with Mrs. Blan- 
dore,” a lady who frequently chapero7ied her in 
society. From Secretary Blank’s they were to 
proceed at once to a magistrate, who had been 
engaged to perform the marriage ceremony 
which would, legally at least, unite them be- 
yond the power of father or friends to annul ; — 
an unblest marriage, which promised neither 
happiness nor repose, because both the natural 
and divine laws would have been outraged by it. 
And while the gay dance-music was sounding in 
her ears, while every one seemed light-hearted, 
and bursts of laughter clear and merry rippled 
through the pauses, even while she herself 
whirled round in a dizzy waltz with the ‘ ‘ mad- 
ding crowd,” dreary doubts, and fears, and 
dread about the step she was going to take as- 
sailed hei, tugging at her heart with such fierce 
pain that she wondered if her courage would not 
fail at the very last. It was in this state of 
mind that Captain Dave found her in the ball- 


WARP AND WOOF. 


l8l 


room, and met her so opportunely at the head of 
the staircase, as he was about leaving, when her 
courage had completely failed, and she was 
saved. 

“Did you love St. Aignan, dear Rose-Marie?” 
Gerty asked, in grave, tender tones, a great pity 
softening her eyes. 

“I don’t know. I never did know; but I 
don’t think so, for I was unhappy all the time. 
It was a sort of infatuation, I think. It was 
such fun, too, to make the conquest of a man 
that all the girls were doing their best to win. 
I think if I had really and truly loved him, my 
heart would not have failed me to-night. I 
should have gone with him, instead of being 
here with you. Oh, Gerty! how foolish and 
wicked I have been!” cried Rose-Marie, clinging 
to her friend, and sobbing on her breast. “And 
oh, Gerty ! papa will never forgive me, , and I 
don’t deserve that he should. What shall I do?” 

“Dear Rose-Marie, can you not ask the as- 
sistance of Our Blessed Lady, who has doubtless 
so far protected and saved you from the snares 
that were set for your feet? You know how she 
pities and helps us, when, tempted beyond our 
strength, we commit error — for she knows how 
weak we are. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ She knows, too, that it is all my own fault, 
and that for two years I have not approached the 
Sacraments, and have given all my time and 
thoughts to worldly pleasure. Oh, Gerty: I have 
been so vain and heartless; what shall I do?” 


WARP AND WOOF. 


182 

“Just come to her like a little child, who, 
having wandered into the desert in search of 
flowers, found only thorns that pierced and 
wounded her feet, and sent her back crying to 
her mother’s breast for refuge and forgiveness;” 
said Gerty, in low, gentle tones. 

“I wish I could, Gerty; I will try when all 
this is over. I can think of nothing now, except 
the dreadful trouble I am in, and my father’s 
anger. Maybe he won’t let me come home 
again, and will keep Don away from me. ’ ’ 

There was a tap at the door, and, lifting Rose- 
Marie’ s hot, throbbing head from her breast to 
the pillow, Gerty went to see who sought ad- 
mittance. It was Captain Dave. 

‘ ‘ Tell her, ’ ’ he said, ‘ ‘ that her father knows all. 
He had read the note she left for him, and was 
half crazy; but when he heard that she was safe 
here with you, he was relieved beyond measure. 
After hearing all I had to tell him, he told me 
to give her his love, and say that he blamed him- 
self more than he did her, and would try in the 
future to be a better father than he had been in 
the past. He will come to bring her home to- 
morrow, or rather to-day, for it is now Ash Wed- 
nesday, 2 o’clock a. m. Good night, or good 
morning, as you please; I’m going to get an hour 
or two’s sleep before we — Jones and myself — ^go 
to early Mass.” And after Captain Dave had 
kissed Gerty’ s pale cheek, she ran back to impart 
to Rose-Marie the good news, the message of 


WARP AND WOOF. 


183 

peace and forgiveness he had brought; and the 
noble-hearted youth inarched up to his sleeping- 
room, well satisfied with his night’s work, and 
was soon lost in the peaceful slumber of the 
just. 

Rose-Marie was deeply moved when Gerty re- 
peated all that her brother had said. Her father’s 
message of love and forgiveness, his accusing 
himself more than he blamed her, touched the 
very best instincts of her nature, and made her 
feel her fault more keenly, and resolve that with 
God’s blessed help he should not outdo her, who 
was so unworthy of such generous love, and 
would try to render back to him all that he gave, 
by such cheerful duty and willing obedience as 
were due him. Tears stole softly from the girl’s 
closed eyes; the passion of grief, remorse and 
dread which had been so bitterly mingled, and 
had shaken her with such wild emotipn, gave 
way to calmer and more salutary impressions. 
The crimson had faded out of her cheeks, her 
face was now pale and restful, and Gerty, who 
sat by her, holding her hand and watching he r 
countenance, would have felt alarmed at her 
whiteness and silence, had she not seen the glis- 
tening tears as they flowed, and noticed that her 
lips moved in voiceless prayer. Rose-Marie was 
finding her way back to the safe shelter of her 
Mother’s breast, after being “stung and pierced 
by the thorns of the desert, where she liad been 
straying in the fond hope of finding flowers.” 


184 


WARP AND WOOF. 


Gerty slipped softly away from her side., leaving 
her alone with her good angel and her penitent. 

The next morning, at 7 o’clock, Gerty and 
Rose-Marie were in church, kneeling together 
at the sanctuary to receive upon their foreheads 
the cross of the ashes of palms, by which act the 
faithful are reminded of the shortness of life 
and the certainty of death, of the vanity of all 
earthly things and the survival of hope in a 
truer life, which, like the fabled phoenix, rises 
out of the ashes that consumed it, to a new and 
brighter existence. After the hosannas and the 
spreading of palm-branches, came the cruci- 
fixion; and it seems meet that through the ashes 
of the palms we should be reminded of the ine- 
vitable hour when this - mortal life, crucified by 
death and its bitter anguish, shall yield itself to 
the dust out of which it came. 

The Warners and their guest, Peter Jones, re- 
ceived Holy Communion at this opening solem- 
nity of the penitential season with such devout 
intentions as the spirit of their divine Faith in- 
spired. Rose-Marie saw them approach and 
reverently kneel to receive the Bread of Life. 
She bowed her head upon her hands, and the bit- 
ter thought arose : ‘ ‘ But for my own folly I too 
could receive. ’ ’ Then 

“ Like the leaf the prophet threw 
Into the bitter wave,” 

came the remembrance of her father’s forgive* 


WARP AND WOOF. 185 

aess, giving her hope of the forgiveness of Him 
whom above all she had offended, and of recon- 
ciliation through penitence with her neglected 
faith; and the Salve Regina and the Ave Maria 
she breathed were full of a fervor she had been 
very long a stranger to. 

After Gerty and herself reached home and 
were going up stairs to lay off their things, they 
met Captain Dave coming down, looking as if 
nothing unusual had happened, and as if her being 
there was an every-day occurrence. His brave, 
handsome face wore a welcoming smile, and he 
held out his hand. Grasping it in both her own, 
Rose-Marie, with the impulsiveness of true feeh 
ing, said: “Dear old Davy, what should I have 
done, had you not been there?” 

“I’m very glad I was there, little girl. You 
remember the compact over which we shook 
hands once? I, as a knight bound by his vow, 
should have been false had I not watched over 
you when I saw danger threatening you.” 

“Was that it, Davy? And I was so cross to 
you sometimes! Never mind! I’m going to be 
good now,” she said, smiling in his face with 
something of the old brightness. 

“All right,” he answered. “Both of you 
hurry down to our feast of ‘lentils and brown 
bread.’ I say, Gerty, this fasting time will 
come pretty hard on our pampered appetites, 
won’t it?” 

“I think it will, Davy, dear; but all the more 
merit, you know,” she replied. 


1 86 WARP AND WOOF. 

And Captain Warner, whistling, as Rose- 
Marie told him later, like a school-boy going 
past a graveyard at night, to keep up his cour- 
age, ran down stairs to await them in the dining- 
room. 

Mr. Hazel ton came in his carriage about 
eleven o’clock, and after a private interview 
with his daughter, in which mutual forgiveness 
was asked and given, and earnest promises for 
the future made to each other, a perfect recon- 
ciliation, followed by a newly-born trust and 
confidence between them, was established, never 
to be broken again by either. After taking an 
affectionate leave of the Warners, showing their 
deep sense of gratitude by manner more than by 
words, father and daughter went home together, 
feeling nearer to each other than ever before. 
Holding Don in a warm embrace as she knelt on 
the floor beside him, Rose-Marie covered his 
face with tears and kisses, until, frightened by 
her strange mood, he struggled to get away from 
her, but she held him fast and said: “Oh, Don! 
you don’t know how near I came to losing you, 
dear, precious darling!” 

“What makes you cry so? Did you bweak 
sumpfin?” Don knew that breaking things 
was the rock upon which he most frequently 
split, and by a quick process of inductive reason- 
ing, known only to himself, he supposed it to be 
the onlv cause that could have brought his beau- 
tiful sister to grief. But she soothed and car- 


WARP AND WOOF. 


187 

essed and comforted him by giving him hei 
costly little watch, that played two sad, ghostly 
tunes, to amuse himself with, with almost the 
certainty that it would be broken or thrown into 
the fire before his fun with it was over. She 
did not care, for the sense of her escape from 
that which would — she felt now — have ruined 
her whole life ; the new relations established be- 
tween her father and herself; and being here, at 
home again with Don — all made her so happy 
that she was willing to suffer any such loss with 
patience as an expression of her gratitude. In 
fact all the costly treasures she possessed were 
deemed insignificant and worthless, compared 
with the magnitude of the favors she had re- 
ceived, and above all, the strong, sweet hope, 
which, like a fair lily springing out of black 
mire, had grown out of her recent griefs and 
humiliations, a promise of reconciliati,on with 
the divine Faith whose practice she had so long 
forsaken. She was quite in earnest in this pur- 
pose; the firmness and energy hitherto directed 
and concentrated on vain, empty pleasure, she 
meant to turn to better and higher things, until 
her feet were planted firmly on a safe foundation. 
She would have a great deal to contend with, she 
knew, and much to overcome in herself, but she 
was resolved, with God’s help, and the help of 
our Blessed Mother, to try, and as she possessed, 
as I have shown, a pretty strong will of her own, 
it is fair to conclude that having once put hel 
hand to the plough, she would not turn back. 


i88 


WARP AND WOOF. 


Eugene de St. Aignan, after the first fury of 
his disappointment was over, called to ask, or 
rather demand, an explanation of the deception 
that Rose-Marie had practised towards him, but 
he was not admitted; then he sent notes, which 
were returned unopened. He felt that he ,had 
been outwitted in some way, but the escapade 
was a profound secret which he, although en- 
raged and bafiled, would not speak of, for fear of 
ridicule and the laughter of society. When he 
found how useless were all attempts to obtain an 
interview, or renew by note his intercourse with 
Rose-Marie, he rushed home after his last futile 
call, ordered his horse — a new and almost un- 
tried purchase — mounted him, and galloped off 
at breakneck speed towards the country beyond 
Georgetown, where steep roads with precipitous 
sides, and angry torrents dashed over the rocks 
below, give a wild and savage aspect to the scen- 
ery. Leaving him to pursue his mad ride, I will 
go back to the dear Warners, who are in the cheer- 
ful sitting-room, which is their favorite spot, and 
which they all love, because there, of all places 
in the house, reserve, or what Uncle Max was in 
the habit of calling “society manners,” was 
thrown off, and every one felt at liberty to do 
pretty much as he pleased. Mr. Warner and Cap- 
tain Dave had drawn up their chairs near the 
centre table, each of them enjoying a cigar, and 
were listening to a new poem Uncle Max had 
sent Gerty, and which she was reading aloud. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


189 

The poem was ‘ ‘ Tucile, ’ ’ and the tripping verse 
and its odd adaptation to the prosaic forms of 
life, made it very attractive, while the descrip- 
tive portions and striking comparisons and met- 
aphors, that were sprinkled like diamond-dust 
throughout, still more enchained the attention,, 
until a phase of unholy love began to tarnish 
the fair pages. Gerty read on, scarcely compre- 
hending the drift of the part of which the dark, 
passionate, sinful Due de Duvois is the hero, 
when a hearty “good evening” at the open door 
interrupted her. It was Father Powell, Mrs. 
Warner’s spiritual director, who had been mak- 
ing her an unusually long visit that evening, 
and whom nobody knew to be in the house un 
til his pleasant voice made them aware of the 
fact. “lyucile” was quickly thrown aside, and 
each one of the little circle sprang forward with 
outstretched hand and warm, welcome words to 
greet him, and urge him to come in and sit 
awhile; he yielded, and seated himself in the 
luxurious chair that was offered, with hat in 
hand, however, a signal that his visit would be 
a brief one. Father Powell was a great favorite 
with the chosen few admitted to his personal 
friendship; I say few advisedly, for, while he 
was the friend of all, in a way, the pressure of 
his pastoral duties allowed him but a small num- 
ber of intimacies — a sacrifice which could not but 
be painful to a nature like his, which was genial 
and kindly, and helped to keep his sympathy 


190 


WARP AND WOOF. 


with human nature alive. He did not tell 
people that it was a sin and an offence to 
Almighty God and His holy will for them to 
weep and grieve when they were afflicted 
some sore trial, and that he knew better how to 
aneasure their hearts’ bitterness when the most 
tender and sacred human ties were riven, than 
the bereaved ones themselves; or look upon the 
harmless gayety of others with sour counte- 
nance, and call it folly and levity. He knew 
there was a time to weep and a time to laugh; 
and while he could reprove with severity when 
necessary, he was careful never, by word, or 
act, or look, to crush the reed already bruised. 
There was nothing of extraordinary sanctity 
apparent in his daily life; only God Him- 
self knew how fairly and. beautifully his 
spiritual life was rounded out by the faithfully- 
performed duties of his high vocation. Only in 
secret did his good works blossom, only in secret 
did he work and win the beatitudes which would 
one day crown him with eternal rewards. He 
was also a cultivated scholar who did not disdain 
modern literature, and kept himself au courant 
with the history and progress of his own times, 
weighing events by the grand rule of God’s de- 
signs, and learning wise lessons of the nothing- 
ness of this world and the powers thereof, by 
discerning how perpetually they repeated them- 
selves, without taking the least advantage of the 
blunders and mistakes of the past, going blindly 


WARP AND WOOF. 


I9I 

to destruction by the same old ways and under 
the very same circumstances that had wrecked 
kingdoms and annihilated nations — so that, by 
the study of human nature and of human events, 
he was a more than nsually sagacious man. 

The Warners had scarcely welcomed him and 
settled themselves to enjoy his unexpected visit, 
when the hall door opened, and Peter Jones came 
in, intending to go direct to his room; but as he 
was passing he got a glimpse of Father Powell, 
and stepped in to speak to him, only too glad of 
so good an excuse to be in the family circle again, 
if but for a few minutes. Once there, however, 
he had not the courage to go away, and stayed. 

“You were reading aloud, Gerty, I think,” 
Father Powell said, after shaking hands with 
Peter Jones, and telling him how glad he was to 
see him, for he had a thorough respect for the 
young fellow. 

“Yes, Father, a foolish love story, and in 
poetry, too,” she replied, her cheeks slightly 
flushing. 

.“Why foolish, my child? All love is not 
foolish,” was the reply. 

“ It is awfully sentimental and improbable — I 
mean the book ; it may be fascinating to some as 
a romance, but it strikes me that the best part 
of it is made to sink in interest below the level 
of the worst. Perhaps if I knew anything ex- 
perimentally about love, I might be able to anal- 
yze the story more lucidly,” answered Gerty, 


ig2 WARP AND WOOF. 

with slight embarrassment. She looked up, and 
met Peter Jones’s eyes fixed with a penetrating, 
inquiring glance upon her; and to her great dis- 
comfort, she felt the blood surging to her face, 
and knew that it must be the color of a “ red, 
red rose. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ A virtuous love, my child, is a very sacred 
thing — a principle implanted in human nature to 
elevate it, to make it more perfect, and bring it 
nearer to God, by a true accordance with His 
designs,” said Father Powell. 

“That sort of love is rare, I’m afraid,” spoke 
up Captain Dave; “were it not, we should not 
have so many unhappy marriages, divorces, and 
other miseries. ’ ’ He was contrasting in his own 
mind the love as defined by Father Powell, with 
the so-called passion whose snares Rose-Marie 
had so happily escaped. 

‘ ‘ That sort of love was more the rule in the 
Ages of Faith than the exception, as it is in this 
era of the world. As heresy and infidelity spread, 
sacred principles and beliefs, with submission to 
the divine precepts, were undermined, or utterly 
perverted to sensual uses by the unfaithful, and 
nothing more so than this true, sacred sentiment 
known in its common sense as love. Christian 
love, in which duty and religious obligation be- 
come essential elements of the passionate emo- 
tions of the heait, is what I mean. I wish the 
young and inexperienced could be made to un- 
derstand the definition of a true Christian love. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


193 


and how great the contrast is between it and that 
false sentiment also called love! It would save 
no end of misery and sin. I suppose it is one 
of those evils which, uncontrolled by the teach- 
ings and precepts of our holy Faith, must con- 
tinue to drag along with its train of suffering 
and wrong, to the day of reckoning.” 

“The Ages of Faith show many examples of 
that true and sacred passion you speak of. 
Father,” said Peter Jones, who had been listen- 
ing to Father Powell with eager attention; “the 
literature of those days is just full of it. St. 
lyouis of France cherished for his wife. Margue- 
rite, to the last hour of his life, the tenderness 
of his early years; on the ring he always wore 
he had engraved these words: ‘God, France, 
Marguerite,’ and on showing it used to say: 
''Hors cel anel fC ai point d'' amour. ’ In literature 
what is more touching than the pure love of 
Roland and his betrothed Aude, in the ‘Romance 
of Roncevaux;’ or the history of misfortune en- 
dured by Gerard de Rousillon and his wife; or 
the holy love of the dear Elizabeth of Hungary 
and her husband, Eouis of Thuringia! ” 

“In Germany,” continued Father Powell, 
with a nod of approval to Peter Jones, who had 
thus by some inexplicable impulse, been drawn 
out of his shell; “the adopted country of the 
dear Elizabeth, this feature of Christian litera- 
ture was more general and more loved than else- 
where. In the Niebelungen, in Sigefroid and 
7 


194 


WARP AND WOOF. 


Chriemhilde, are found the brightest and mosi 
popular examples. This light of pure love irra- 
diated the most beautiful historical traditions, 
such as those of ‘Henry the Tion,’ of ‘Floren 
tia,’ of ‘Genevieve of Brabant,’ ‘Count Ulric,’ 
and others of equal repute and interest. There 
were not many mixed marriages in those days, 
my friends,” said Father Powell. 

‘ ‘ How about St. Monica, whose husband was 
a pagan, and converted by her prayers?” said 
Mr. Warner, with a twinkle in his eyes. 

“And are there many Monicas to be found, 
who, by the grace of God, may risk the dangers 
of mixed marriages with safety even to their 
own faith? What happened to Solomon, the 
wisest man the earth ever knew, after he con- 
sorted with his Assyrian wives and the daughters 
of Heth? He built temples to their idols for 
them, where the incense of their false worship 
floated up, and blended with the very smoke of 
the altars of sacrifice in the Temple on Mt. Sion, 
thereby participating in their sin. Solomon, 
but for the infinite mercy and patience of God, 
was in extreme danger. But, indeed, my dear 
children, I have overstayed my time, and must 
bid you good-night. Don’t forget this, how- 
ever, that if in some cases a believing wife con- 
verts an unbelieving husband, the instances are 
rare, and are always attended with risk. Good- 
bye, and God bless you.” 

Mr. Warner and Captain Dave attended Father 


WARP AND WOOF. 


195 


Powell to the door, and Peter Jones and Gerty 
were left a moment together. He said, as if 
thinking aloud: love like that Father Powell 

speaks of would bring life nearer heaven than it 
is now; don’t you think so?” 

“It’s a subject I have given very little thought 
to, ’ ’ she answered, with a pleasant laugh. 

“And it is such love as I hope to win and 
give; it must be that or none. Did you know 
that I shall be going away soon. Miss Warner? 
My father is coming. ’ ’ 

Gerty gave an almost imperceptible start, and 
said, “ It is rather sudden, is it not?” 

‘ ‘ He is coming on a special mission to your 
Government; when everything is settled, we 
shall return home together. ’ ’ 

“Home! To England?” she asked, wonder- 
ingly. 

“No: to Germany. After he comes, a ques- 
tion vital to my future happiness can be settled, 
and only then;” he said, in low tones. 

But that was all. Honor sealed his lips, and 
bidding her “Good-night,” somewhat abruptly, 
he went away up stairs. 

“A German! Well, I am glad of it; that ends 
everything;” said Gerty, leaning her elbow on 
the mantel, and resting her fair cheek on her 
hand, thinking many thoughts. 

Mr. Warner went up stairs to talk over the 
events of the day with his wife — at least such of 
them as he knew would interest her; and Cap- 


WARP AND WOOF. 


196 

tain Dave, having bolted and barred the hall 
door, came back to the sitting-room to smoke 
his cigar. Finding Gerty still there, he asked, 
with a merry laugh, how she had liked Father 
Powell’s discourse on love. 

“I am still trying to sound its depths, Davy, 
for I am not entirely convinced that there is 
such a thing on earth, outside of romance and 
poetry,” she answered, trying to smile. 

“I must say, though, Gerty, that he gave us 
good authority for believing there is. It is 
really quite encouraging! I thought father had 
him cornered, however, about mixed marriages, 
until he brought Solomon and the daughters of 
Heth to the front,” said Captain Dave, sending 
up a cloud of smoke from his lips. 

“Yes, I think he had father at a loss there: 
and then, like a discreet general, he retreated 
in good order,” she laid, laughing. “But, 
Davy dear, have you heard anything about any 
one’s coming, or any one’s going very soon?” 

“Oh, that reminds me! I did hear that 
Jones’ father would be here in a day or two, 
and that the dear old fellow would leave us as 
soon as he arrived. If I were not expecting to 
be off in a short time myself, I should think it 
very bad news, for I have learned to love him 
like a brother. He’s awfully blue about some- 
thing, I’ve noticed; perhaps he doesn’t think it 
the pleasantest news in the world.” 

“ Did he tell you about it himself? ’ ’ she asked. 


WARP AND WOOP. 


197 


*‘No; father mentioned it this morning; but 
he was in a great hurry to see a gentleman who 
was waiting for him at his office, and I had not 
time to ask a question. Who told you, Gerty?” 

“He told me himself just now. Did you 
know he is a German, Davy?” 

“A what?” exclaimed Captain Dave, as much 
astonished as if she had suggested a gorilla or a 
kangaroo. ‘ ‘ How do you know ? ’ ’ 

“From his own lips, Davy,” she answered, 
quietly; “but good-night; 1 must run up and 
arrange mother’s oratory, for Father Powell will 
be here in the morning, about six o’clock, to 
give her Holy Communion. ’ ’ 

“And I shall march on Peter Jones instanter^ 
and question him — so much that he will be 
struck with the idea that I am a peripatetic note 
of interrogation. I don’t like to have my friends 
swooped off in this sort of way, without know- 
ing why. ’ ’ 

“One thing more, Davy: don’t speak of 
having heard it from me,” said Gerty, turning 
a moment with her hand upon the door-knob, 
and her face flushed with that delicate tint so 
becoming to her. 

“But why? I can’t see. There’s no harm in 
mentioning that you told me; but I won’t, cer- 
tainly, if you wish me not to,” he said, noticing 
a certain expression of distress that had come 
into her ffce. 

“Thanks; I would much prefer you not to 
mention my name, Davy dear. Good-night.” 


WARP AND WOOP. 


198 

Captain Dave smoked in silence for some 
time. He was thinking, and presently some- 
thing dawned upon his mind which explained 
— if he was right — why Peter Jones had been 
behaving so strangely for a time past, and 
why his sister had made it a point that her 
name was not to be mentioned as his informant. 

“It makes it a little awkward forme to go 
and question Jones about his going away, if 
what I suspect is the fact; but I shall go up to 
his room anyhow, and tell him how sorry I am 
at the prospect of parting with him. I’ll let him 
know I heard of it from father. I’m sure that 
will be no harm. Then if he chooses to tell me 
about his plans, or anything else, all right.” 
Then Captain Dave threw the end of his cigar 
into the grate, and went up to Peter Jones’s 
room, where he was made welcome, and told 
that he was doing the kindest thing in the world 
to come where he was just being wished for. It 
was very evident that Peter Jones was yearning 
for some one to open his heart to, for as soon as 
his friend was seated he began to talk of his 
father’s expected arrival, and from that went 
backwards to his early life, his home in Ger- 
many, the isolated existence he had led in uni- 
versities, separated from all those sacred domes- 
tic ties which form the happiness and safeguard 
of youth; rarely seeing his father, who was 
either away at foreign courts to represent his gov- 
ernment, or, if at home, actively engaged in the 


WARP AND WOOF. 


199 


intricate wcrk of political statecraft. And so 
they talked on and on, until the “wee snia' 
hours,” the one giving, the other receiving, 
sacred, manly confidences, with sympathy, and 
with such encouragement as he felt free to offer; 
— their friendship for each other cemented and 
never to be broken so long as both should live. 
There were two points, however, which made 
Captain Dave sleepless after he finally retired 
for the night. Peter Jones had laid his heart 
bare to him about Gerty, had told him all his 
doubts, and the difficulties that beset him, and 
why he had felt in honor bound, as he could 
not speak, to withdraw himself from her society 
until such time as he might be free to try and 
win her for his wife. That Gerty loved Peter 
Jones he did not doubt; but Peter Jones was a 
foreigner, and had he not once heard her say 
that if she ‘ ‘ could not marry an American, she 
would die an old maid?” He knew that Gerty 
was a girl of a very decided character, and as 
firm as a rock — her mind once made up — and he 
knew that neither the high rank and possessions 
of Peter Jones’s family, nor even her own prefer- 
ence for him, with the consent of all around, 
could change her determination, if what she had 
said that day was from her heart, instead of be- 
ing an ebullition called forth by Rose-Marie Haz- 
elton’s nonsense. The next point was the fact 
that Peter Jones was Peter Jones no longer, but 
Petrus Johannes Baron von Binsdel^ only son 


200 


WARP AND WOOF. 


and lieir of Count von Einsdel, one of the most 
distinguished men of his country, and recently 
appointed by his sovereign Minister Plenipoten- 
tiary' to the United States. Would he consent 
to his son’s marrying the daughter of a plain 
American citizen, even should she be willing to 
accept him? Would not certain regulations of 
the Imperial Court interfere to separate them, 
and prevent the marriage? Captain Dave’s 
brain felt more confused over all this than it had 
ever felt under a ten hours’ fire in some of the 
battles he had been in, when Minie balls and 
grape were whistling over his head and around 
him, while cannon rattled their wild thunders in 
accompaniment. He at last fell into a troubled 
sleep and dreamed he was a Nihilist; but sprang 
up wide awake and covered with cold sweat, just 
as he was in the act of applying a match which 
was to explode a mine of such extent that the 
whole German Empire would be blown to atoms. 
Captain Dave plunged his head into a basin of 
cold water, said a Hail Mary, and again sought 
his pillow, where he quickly dropped into such 
a deep sleep that he did not know what had be- 
come of himself until a bright gleam of sunshine 
across his face the next morning, awoke him. He 
was just in time for breakfast, and to go with 
Peter Jones to the depot, where he was to take 
the train for New York to meet his father, who 
was expected to arrive by the German steamer 
the day following. Gerty had told him, while 


WARP AND WOOF. 


201 


she was pouring out his coffee, ^hat she had 
promised to spend this morning with Rose- 
Marie, and Captain Dave, instead of returning 
home after seeing his friend off, thought he 
would drop in on Uncle Max, whom he found 
in his office, and for a rarity, disengaged and 
pining for a long stroll somewhere in the sun- 
shine and air. ‘‘You are just in time, Davy! 
What do you say to a walk as far as the col- 
lege?’’ was his greeting, when he looked up and 
saw who had come in. 

“With the greatest pleasure. I don’t know 
what put it into my head, but I was just think- 
ing of it as I drew near the house. It is a splen- 
did day for a tramp,” was the ready answer. 
And in a few minutes they were on their way 
towards Georgetown, sauntering leisurely along, 
beguiling the way with pleasant converse, loiter- 
ing on the bridge like two school-boys, to watch 
the bright waters of the creek that divides the 
old city from the new, as it ran sparkling in the 
sunshine towards the river which flowed on with 
majestic sweep a short distance away. 

“Suppose we hail a boat. Uncle Max, and 
row across to the Virginia side?” suggested 
Captain Dave. 

“Not to-day; I hope to find Father Grafton at 
home, and in case we do, I have a little matter 
of business I want to talk over with him. Some 
time before you go I should enjoy nothing more 
than a row on the river with ♦you, Davy ” said 
Uncle Max, moving on. 


202 


WARP AND WOOR. 


They walked slowly up the old Georgetown 
streets towards the college which crowns the 
northwestern heights overhanging the Potomac. 
The president of the college, Father Grafton, 
was an old class-mate of Max Ashton’s, and 
they had ever since continued to be intimate 
friends. They went up-stairs and tapped on the 
door of his private sitting-room; a hearty voice 
within bade them enter, which they did without 
further ceremony. They saw that Father Graf- 
ton was, or had been, engaged in close conver- 
sation with a gentleman, as they entered, and 
would have withdrawn instantly, but it was too 
late; he saw them, and came forward with quick 
step and welcoming hand to greet them. 

“I see you are engaged; we will not inter- 
rupt you,” said Uncle Max, in a low voice; 
“we’ll stroll through the grounds, and return.” 

“You’ll do nothing of the sort, Ashton. 
Your coming — ^both of you — is the most oppor- 
tune thing in the world; it has saved me from a 
fruitless visit to your rooms, where, of course, I 
should not have found you, so come in and sit 
down,” responded Father Grafton. 

The gentleman they had observed on entering 
the room, and whose back had been turned to- 
wards them, now rose. Captain Dave’s intense 
surprise may be imagined when he saw — whom 
of all the world he least expected to see there — 
Eugene de St. Aignan! His first impulse was 
to excuse himself and withdraw from the pres- 


WARP AND WOOP. 


203 


ence of the man who had been so curiously 
mixed up in his life; but before he cculd do so 
Father Grafton was introduing them to his 
friend, Monsieur Leonce de Moret, from New 
Orleans. 

Captain Dave was so overcome with astonish- 
ment, and quick revulsion of feeling, that he 
turned very pale, and gazed fixedly on the other’s 
face, as he mechanically offered his hand. Father 
Grafton was saying: “You will understand how 
opportunely you and Captain Warner have come, 
Ashton, when I inform you that Monsieur de 
Moret brings letters of introduction to you both, 
but not knowing exactly where to find you, 
came to present one or two he had for me first, 
hoping that I could direct him to you. And 
here you are, drawn by some magnetic attraction, 
or spell, or by the good influence of your guar- 
dian angels, to the very spot where you are 
wanted. Monsieur de Moret has been telling me 
some very interesting passages of his life, for 
which the reading of your old journal, Ashton, 
and Warner’s adventure in New Orleans — which 
you related to me — had in some degree prepared 
me.” 

“Then you are indeed — ” began Captain 
Dave, drawing his chair nearer to D^once de 
Moret, while Uncle Max and Father Grafton, 
leaving the young men together, seated them- 
selves near an open window, where they were 
soon deeply engaged in a low-voiced conversa- 
tion; “then you are indeed ” 


204 


WARP AND WOOP. 


‘%eotice de Moret, whose life you saved one 
morning in New Orleans, in the old house of 
Dom Pedro del Alaya,” he responded, grasping 
Captain Dave’s hand with great emotion. 

“But how did you find out that it was I? 
Who told you my name? You were unconscious 
— utterly so — up to the time I left New Or- 
leans?” asked Captain Dave, eagerly. 

“Circumstantial details of the whole affair, in 
connection with my case, were kept by the sur- 
geons in Paris, who had me under treatment. 
After my recovery they were placed in my 
hands. ’ ’ 

“And the — your brother— or double — or twin! • 
Is he not here in Washington? I thought you 
were St. Aignan when I came into the room and 
first saw you. I feel dazed yet, for I cannot 
realize that you are yourself, and not he, ’ ’ said 
Captain Dave, with a countenance full of be- 
wilderment and concern. 

‘ ‘ I have a brother, Eugene de St. Aignan — is 
he really here in Washington?” was asked, in 
eager tones. 

“Yes; I saw him as late as yesterday; he has 
been living here all winter, but pardon me — I do 
not quite understand about the difference in your 
names. ’ ’ 

“True. It is not unusual abroad for one son 
— say the heir — to hold the father’s name, while 
another may bear the mother’s; it is so with us. 

I can never thank you sufficiently. Captain 


WARP AND WOOF. 


205 


Warner, for your liuinanity to me that dreadful 
morning you found me lying almost dead in the 
cellar of my old house, where, but for your 
timely assistance, I should undoubtedly have 
died. ’ ’ 

“Your faithful old servant’s shrieks led me to 
the spot. ” 

“So I was told. Poor old Chapita! faithful 
indeed. But how few would have rushed into 
an old, walled-in house like that, in a hostile 
city ? How could you tell that you would not 
get into a trap that would cost you dearly? ” 

“I acted upon impulse at first; then, after I 
was in, and found how silent everything was, 
except when the mysterious shrieks rent the air, 
I did feel some apprehensions 5uch as you name; 
but humanity urged me to go on, and I found 
you, just in time, they said, to save your life. 
But tell me — was it discovered who had at- 
tempted to murder you ? ” 

“No one attempted or designed murder. Cap- 
tain Warner; I will explain. My brother Eu- 
gene and myself went to New Orleans together 
to look into my affairs, and we were glad to find 
ourselves in the old Del Alaya house, which my 
father used to talk about a great deal, but which 
neither of us remembered. My particular object 
in going there was not alone for the gratification 
of a pardonable desire to visit the home of m} 
ancestors, but for the purpose of finding out 
whether or not certain secret treasures concealed 


2o6 


WARP AND WOOF. 


there, to which my father gave me the ke}* oc 
his death-bed, were safe. We had heard of the 
occupation of the city by the Federal troops, 
and fearing to send any confidential lines to his 
factor about the matter, lest they might be in- 
tercepted, and his house stripped, and perhaps 
razed to the ground in search of them, my father 
did nothing but brood over it, until his disorder 
was so much increased by his mental disquiet 
that it hastened his death. The treasures re- 
ferred to were part of my mother’s inheritance 
from the Del Alayas through generations, and I 
promised my father, in the most sacred manner, 
not to reveal to a living being where they were 
concealed. He made me take a solemn oath 
upon my honor as a Christian gentleman nevei 
to do so. My brother, unfortunately, stepped 
into the chamber, unperceived by either of us, 
and overheard my promise, from which he could 
only learn that there was something secreted 
somewhere, a knowledge of which my father had 
imparted to me alone. It was a great trial to me 
to have a secret that I could not share with him 
when he urged me to do so, after my father 
was buried; for we had grown up together, lov- 
ing and confiding entirely in each other, and it 
exasperated, wounded, and made him jealous and 
unhappy, when, bound by my oath, I positively 
refused to explain to him. I could not, would 
not break my word so pledged, and a shadow 
came between us which he tried to conceal^ and 
I tried not to see ; but it continued. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


207 


“We went to New Orleans together, and he 
urged me again to share my secret with him; 
and when I again told him that by reason of my 
oath it was impossible, he got into a rage, ac- 
cused me of selfishness, called me a sneak, in 
short, roused me to fury, and for the first time 
in our lives we quarrelled.” 

“ He was not your own brother, De Moret?” 

“No; but I beg you will pardon me if I de- 
cline referring to the peculiar relation that ex- 
ists between us, ’ ’ answered the young man, with 
quiet reserve. 

“Certainly; excuse the question, and tell me 
what followed the quarrel; I am deeply inter- 
ested.” 

“After the quarrel he never left me to myself 
by day or night. His anger seemed to have 
passed away; mine really had, and I showed in 
every way my willingness to make it all up; but 
I felt that he was all the time watching my 
movements to discover some clew to my secret. 
It was awfully irksome, and I did not see where 
it would end; for his disposition was of that 
tenacious sort that nothing ever induced him to 
give up an object he had once set his heart upon. 
He was now extremely kind and affectionate, 
and exercised all his wonderfully fascinating 
powers, hoping that in an hour of unguarded 
confidence I would betray myself. One morn- 
ing — that fatal morning — I awoke with the 
dawm, and seeing that Eugene was in a pro- 


2o8 


WARP AND WOOF. 


found sleep — his room opened into mine — 1 
dressed myself, keeping my eye upon him; but 
as he did not stir, I felt that my opportunity to 
visit the secret place, indicated by my father, 
had come at last, and I slipped noiselessly out 
into the corridor, down stairs, and was just 
going down the steep stone steps, leading into 
the cellar, when I heard quick footsteps. It was 
Eugene. He sprang after me. The space was 
narrow between me and the wall; there was 
no hand-rail, and I was on the outside. He 
dashed past. I lost my balance and fell, strik- 
ing my head, the surgeons thought, on the stone 
floor below. That is all I remember. Captain 
Warner, until I awoke one morning and found 
myself lying upon a table, and saw strange, 
grave, anxious faces around me. I was bound, 
and my head was bandaged; I looked from one 
to another, and asked them where I was. ’ ’ 

“It has saved him,” said one to the others, 
speaking in French; “I will tell him: he must 
not be agitated by finding himself in a strange 
place.” Then he informed me, in very quiet 
tones, that I had been hurt on my head, and had 
been brought to Paris to be placed under the 
treatment of Dr. Brown-Sequard, who had suc- 
cessfully removed some fragments of bone that 
were pressing on my brain, and through that on 
every faculty of my being. He told me to keep 
perfectly quiet, or I should be a dead man in less 
than twenty-four hours. I was only too glad to 


WARP AND WOOF. 


209 


lie still aud enjoy the sense of being awake. I 
was removed from the table, without jolt or jar, 
to a cot prepared for me that stood near it, which 
was borne by strong, steady arms to a pleasant, 
airy room, where, after giving me a composing- 
draught, they left me alone. Everything, from 
the moment I started to go down the cellar-steps 
of the old house in New Orleans, up to that hour 
when I awoke on the table in the operating 
room, was a blank — a long, dreary, dreamless 
night — yes, a very nothingness! To avoid all 
danger of inflammation, the greatest caution 
was observed ; the quiet movements of my nurse, 
and the visits of the surgeons, were the only 
things that broke the monotony of my existence; 
but I was satisfied — I was conscious of life, 
thought, and memory. Since my recovery, I 
have been in search of my brother, who, I fear, 
has almost felt, ever since the accident, as if the 
brand of Cain was on his forehead. That which 
happened was unintentional on his part, I am 
firmly convinced: Eugene would never have 
harmed me.” 

Captain Dave Warner had no such faith in 
Eugene de St. Aignan, but he was discreetly 
silent; he only said: “You are remarkably like 
each other.” 

“Yes, each of us bears a marked resemblance 
to our father. There was a slight difierence, 
though, which only those most intimate with us 
ever observed: his arms were longer than mine* 


210 


WARP AND WOOF. 


his wrists larger; the joint of the great toe of 
each foot, also, was more prominent. It was a 
source of great ciagrin to him, as he said it 
ruined the symmetry of his feet. I have a letter 
of introduction to Mr. Ashton, from my father's 
old friend and banker in New York, and hope 
he will be able to attend to some of my affairs 
for me. If he should consent to do so, it will in- 
volve his going with me to New Orleans.” 

Father Grafton and Max Ashton had been 
talking steadily in an undertone about some sub- 
ject of absorbing interest, while the two young 
men conversed. Uncle Max had been struck by 
the great resemblance of Leonce de Moret to his 
father’s portrait, which had so arrested his atten- 
tion on his visit years before to the old Del Alaya 
house. Each had the same finely-chiselled fea- 
tures, the same noble type of manly beauty, dif- 
fering only in the lower part of the face, which 
in the portrait was faulty, sensual, weak ; in that 
of his son, firm, gentle, and expressive of good- 
ness and purity. He wondered if the other son 
inherited the defective feature which marred the 
otherwise noble countenance of his father. 

‘ ‘ Shall we walk together. Monsieur de Moret?’ ’ 
inquired Uncle Max, as they all stood together, 
saying last words before taking leave. “Our 
way leads us past Madame de St. Aignan’s 
house” — 

^ ‘ Is my brother married ? ” h e asked, in startled 
tones. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


211 


“Oh, no; I referred to his mother, with whom 
he lives,” answered Uncle Max, feeling a little 
annoyed by an intuitive sensation of having said 
something awkward. 

“His mother, Mr. Ashton?” said Leonce, 
whose face had suddenly grown very pale. By 
this time they were outside the college gates. 

“Yes. I hope you may find your brother at 
home; at any rate, you can leave your card and 
address at the door should he not be in,” an- 
swered Uncle Max, in tones as indifferent and 
cheerful as he could command. 

“I will do so; thank you very much, Mr. Ash- 
ton. I am extremely anxious to see him, to set 
his mind at rest about an affair which, I know, 
is troubling him, ’ ’ he replied. 

“We will go round by the Heights, Dave; it 
will be pleasanter for Monsieur de Moret; there 
are so many beautiful views to be seen, which 
are made more picturesque by the numerous en- 
campments upon the hills, far and near. ’ ’ 

Then they walked on, talking of the war, and 
of the military probabilities which just then were 
overshadowed by great uncertainty and no little 
dread to the loyal heart of the nation ; but some- 
how, while admiring the views, and listening 
with interest to what was being said, Ueonce de 
Moret invariably led the way back to the subjec t 
which most of all occupied his mind — his 
brother. “How was he looking?” “Did he 
go a great deal into society?” “Had he made 


212 


WARP AND WOOP. 


friends?’^ were some of the questions he asked, 
which Captain Dave answered as well and as 
amiably as he could. They had proceeded as 
far as Oak-hill cemetery, from which point the 
view of the old and new cities, the broad, bright 
river, and the Virginia hills on the southern 
side, is unequalled. On the opposite side of the 
road workmen were engaged demolishing the 
old “Carolina House,” one of the stately historic 
mansions on the “Heights,” which was to be 
replaced by a showy modern structure for one of 
the nouveaiix-riches cast up by the war. The 
road-side was piled up with bricks, blocks of 
stone and lumber. 

“What vandalism!” exclaimed Uncle Max; 
“to tear down an elegant old home, clustering 
with historic memories that linked the present 
with more refined and patriotic times, and gave 
us traditions of more cultivated generations than 
our own. It is simply atrocious ! ’ ’ 

Just then the clatter and ringing of iron-shod 
hoofs attracted the attention of the party, and 
turning quickly, they saw a gentleman on horse- 
back galloping at full speed up the steep road 
from the town below, the fierce, splendid ani- 
mal urged by spur and curb-bit to do his best, 
— his pointed silky ears set back, his eyes full of 
fire, his thin, delicate nostrils distended and 
quivering, white foam frothing from his mouth, 
and only restrained from a mad run by the mas- 
terly hand that held the reins. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


213 


“It is Eugene! Eugene, look! It is I, your 
brother!” shouted Eeonce, as the horse and his 
rider came nearer. He stood in advance of the 
others, quite on the curb-stone, to attract his 
brother’s attention. St. Aignan gave him one 
look, turned ghastly white, and in that brief 
second of time lost the mastery of his horse, 
whic' reared, and, giving a wild spring, threw 
him crashing down amongst the blocks of stone 
piled on the road-side, then dashed with mad 
speed from the spot. 

Eugene de St. Aignan did not move. He lay 
partly on his back, his face as white as the 
whitest marble there, his black curling hair 
tossed back from forehead and temples. 

“His neck is broken; God have mercy on his 
soul ! ’ ’ said Max Ashton, when they reached him. 

‘ ‘ Eet us lift him off the stones, and lay him upon 
the grass: life may not be entirely extinct.” 

Workmen crowded around, every one olfering 
help, and very tenderly their rough hands as- 
sisted in removing him to a place covered with 
grass and wild thyme, Eeonce clinging to his 
lifeless hand, almost beside himself with grief. 
They dropped some brandy between his pale lips 
from a small flask that some one offered, bathed 
his temples, and chafed his hands; but the still- 
ness and whiteness of death remained unchanged. 
Captain Warner had gone at full speed to the 
Military Hospital, which was only a few squares 
distant, to bring a surgeon. He could not help 


214 


WARP AND WOOF. 


thinking of that morning in New Orleans, when 
he had gone on much the same errand for 
Leonce; the coincidence was passing strange, 
and he wondered, for the first time in his life, if 
there could be such a thing as fate, and why his 
destiny should be so mysteriously tangled with 
that of two men who were strangers, and who, 
beyond a humane sentiment, were literally noth- 
ing to him! 

The surgeons came at once, with hospital 
nurses, and a stretcher. “Life is not extinct,” 
was the verdict. “If he has a home, let him be 
removed to it.” 

“How?” 

‘ ‘ On the stretcher. An ambulance would not 
be safe; the lifting in and out, and the jolting 
over the rough pavement of the street, might be 
fatal to him. We do not know the extent or 
character of his injuries, and will accompany 
him to his home.” 

Max Ashton saw that it was the only feasible 
plan to pursue, and the insensible body was laid 
upon the stretcher, a light blanket was thrown 
over it, and strong, steady arms bore him home- 
wards, his brother ever nearest to him, while the 
others followed in sad procession. 

Madame Zoraya, hearing that some one 
wounded or dead was being brought into her 
house, thought of the vicious-looking horse her 
son had ridden off on so gayly an hour or two 
ago, and rushed down into the hall, sure that 


WARP AND WOOP. 


215 


the animal had thrown him, and broken his 
neck or his limbs. The first person she met 
was Leonce de Moret, and, overcome with terror, 
she threw her arms around him, exclaiming: 
“Oh, Eugene, my son! thank God you are safe! 
I feared it was you I saw them bringing in.” 
Leonce bowed his face over the woman’s beau- 
tiful head; his tears fell warm upon it; he did 
not speak, dreading to undeceive her. His 
silence startled her; she lifted up her head, 
gazed a moment into his face with a wild, ques- 
tioning glance, then laid a hand on each of his 
shoulders, pushing him off, her eyes still fixed 
upon him, her face and lips blanching to death- 
like whiteness. “Are you Eugene?” she 
asked, in a low, frightened tone. “Tell me 
who you are, and who it is they have taken 
up-stairs.” 

“I am not Eugene, Madame — I am his 
brother, Eeonce. Eean upon me as if I were 
indeed your son,” he said, much agitated, but 
forgetting his own grief in hers. 

“Yes: I know you now — so like each other] 
But where is my son? Is he hurt? Is he killed? 
Tell me quickly, Eeonce. He loved you, 
Eeonce — he always loved you/ ’ ’ 

“My brother was thrown from his horse, 
Madame, and he is badly hurt.” 

Without another word, she ran past him, and 
up the stairs to her son’s apartment, to the bed 
where they had laid him, and seeing him, as she 


2i6 


WARP AND WOOF. 


thought, dead, she lost consciousness, and would 
have fallen to the floor, had not Max Ashton 
caught her in his arms. One glance at her 
beautiful face, as he laid her upon a couch in 
the next room, convinced him that Madame 
Zoraya de St. Aignan and Cecile Layet, the 
lovely quadroon he had seen once or twice when 
he was in New Orleans years before, were one 
and the same person. He had not time to think 
then how impossible such a thing could be, but 
it was all made plain to him a few days later, 
when he learned from her own lips, in the 
privacy of a confidential interview relating to 
her son’s affairs, that Cecile was her youngest 
sister, and dreading for her some such fate as had 
wrecked her own life, she had prevailed upon 
her to leave home and join her in Boston, whence 
they sailed to Italy, where she found refuge for 
her in a convent, and afterwards conducted her 
to her own beautiful home in Sicily, where she 
still dwelt under the care of a pious and discreet 
woman. 

Eugene was not killed, but his spine suffered 
some terrible injury when he was thrown from 
his horse, which paralyzed his whole body from 
the shoulders down, and there was not the slight- 
est hope of his recovery. “He might live a 
year or longer, beyond that they could say 
nothing, ’ ’ the doctors declared. He could speak, 
he knew everything and every one ; he was aware 
of his hopeless condition, and gave way to alter- 


WARP AND WOOF. 


217 


nate fits of rage and despondency, of griei and 
defiance, at times, allowing no one near him ex- 
cept Leonce, who had the power to soothe and 
comfort him when all other means failed. One 
night, after giving way to a burst of despairing 
grief, he said: “ Leonce, you know that I would 
not have hurt a hair of your head. But I was 
angry and jealous at being excluded from your 
confidence, and I determined to find out your 
secret. When I awoke, that morning, and missed 
yon from your room, I followed you swiftly; I 
saw you at the end of the corridor leading to the 
cellar; I reached it almost as soon as you did, 
and in a mad fury rushed after you; you fell as I 
tried to get by you. I did not mean it, Ivconce; 
I was frightened at what had happened, a panic 
seized me, and I fled that very morning from 
New Orleans, by the mail-steamer that was just 
getting ready to leave her landing as I reached 
it. I thought you were dead, Leonce, until the 
other day when I met you so unexpectedly on 
Georgetown Heights. I never knew a moment’s 
peace; remorse, despair had followed me up to 
that hour. You have told me all that happened 
after I left you — as I thought, dying or dead — 
on the cellar floor of the old house. You forgive 
me, you cling to me still with a brother’s love” — ■ 
“And will, so help me God, Eugene, while 
we both do live, ’ ’ said E^once, as he leaned over 
and kissed his brother, as if placing a seal upon 
his promise. “But do not, through your old 


2i8 


WARP AND WOOF. 


sensitive pride, refuse to answer me, who love 
you so. How is it about your hopes ©f the fu- 
ture ? ’ ’ 

“I have none; I was given a life that was 
cursed before my birth, and from the day that 
my true history was revealed to me by my 
mother, I have been in revolt against nature, 
against Him you know as God, against what is 
called religion,, and the inhuman laws of man- 
kind, which acquit the wrong-doer, and crush 
and set a mark of infamy on the wronged! I 
have no faith, no belief, L^once — I am sorry to 
pain you. If there’s a judgment hereafter, I 
shall have something to say to my Judge — ” He 
paused, an almost frenzied expression appeared 
in his eyes, and he ground his teeth together in 
impotent rage. 

“ I^eave the dead sins of others with the dead, 
Eugene; do not suffer earthly injustice and its 
bitter wrongs to drag down to utter and eternal 
ruin your immortal soul, which, without your 
own consent, they have no power to harm. My 
brother, refuge, and peace, and an eternal com- 
pensation for all the wrongs you have suffered in 
this life await you, if you will seek it through 
Him who suffered injustice, ignominy and death 
for you,” pleaded E^once, in low, impressive 
tones. 

“Don’t, don’t, E^once! It will only result in 
pain to you, if you talk to me in that way. I’m 
dead all over except my brain; when that dies — ” 


WARP AND WOOF. 2ig 

“Your soul, with all its deathless faculties, 
will live on, ’ ’ was the answer. 

“L^once, promise me one thing,'*’ said the 
stricken man, ever, ever going back to the old, 
bitter theme, and wishing to give a turn to a 
conversation, irksome beyond measure to him: 
“You have seen my mother, you know the 
story of her wrongs, you know her — a beautiful, 
pure woman: will you promise me now, that 
after it is all over with me, you will sometimes 
see her and look after her interests? She has 
no friends; she will be left alone here, among 
strangers, in her grief and desolation!” 

“Do not disquiet yourself in the least, my 
brother; such was my intention before you 
spoke. I will be as a son to her; I will try, by so 
doing, to atone partly for the wrongs she has 
suffered. ’ ’ 

“I have never been as a son to her!” said 
Eugene, with quivering lip. “Thank you, 
Leonce. Will you ask her to come and sit with 
me awhile? I have something I wish to say to 
her. ’ ’ 

Madame Zoraya, her pale, beautiful features 
wearing that touching impress of a sorrow too 
deep for tears, but which was consecrated by 
submission to the Divine will, came in with 
noiseless footsteps, and kneeling beside him, 
whispered : ‘ ‘ My son ! ’ ’ 

“My mother,” he said, tenderly, “forgive 
me ! ’ ’ 


220 


WARP AND WOOF. 


Can we not imagine liow swift to forgive she 
was, and how in turn she besought him to for- 
give her the lack of love which her poor, bruised 
heart had withheld from him? But maternal 
affection now asserted itself like “gold tried in 
the furnace;” the “hay and stubble” of a sense 
of wrong, pride and angry memories, of things 
she had tried in vain to forgive, were consumed, 
and it found its comfort in loving and spending 
every breath in prayer for the repentance of her 
dying son. And might she not hope that since 
he had sought her forgiveness, he would, before 
it was too late, ask and receive the forgiveness 
of Almighty God, who, all-seeing, beholds the 
wrongs, the stings, and the weaknesses of His 
creatures, and pitying them, judges not as man 
judges? 

Eugene de St. Aignan’s unfortunate accident 
was such an opportune break in the monotony 
of Eenten dullness, that the gossips of society, 
who had been yawning with ennui^ and longing 
for something new — an earthquake would not 
have come amiss to them — ^were at once astir 
with excitement, and every one was calling upon 
every one, each telling the other all they knew 
and had heard, which in substance was very 
little, but when overlaid and garnished with the 
possibilities and probabilities they imagined, ap- 
peared a great deal. They “drove the proprie- 
ties,” also, by calling and leaving their cards at 
Madame de St. Aignan’s door.; in fact, they were 


WARP AND WOOP. 


221 


really briiiiniiiig over with sympathy and curi- 
osity. 

“He was so handsome, so distingue! and such 
an eligible match! It is a thousand pities!” said 
one lady, who punctuated her sentences by 
sniffs of aromatic salts, which she always carried 
about with her in a little gold and crystal case. 

“I heard this morning from my maid, who is a 
cousin of Madame de St. Aignan’s laundress, 
that the poor fellow hasn’t a whole bone left in 
his body!” added another. 

‘ ‘ He hasn’ t a single broken bone, I happen to 
know. His spine got hurt, they say, or his 
brain, it’s not clear which it is, when his horse 
threw him, ’ ’ said the old dowager we have met 
before, Rose-Marie’ s frequent chaperone, who 
was generally good authority when there was 
any news or scandal afloat. 

‘ ‘ I heard something this morning, ’ ’ here put 
in another, always glad to get ahead of the dow- 
ager, and give her a slight thrust at the same 
time, fully aware that she was really very fond 
of Rose-Marie; “but people will talk, you know! 
However, I did feel surprised: they say that Rose- 
Marie Hazelton, after flirting so shamefully with 
St. Aignan all winter, and actually engaging 
herself to him, broke with him in the most insult- 
ing manner, and got her father to forbid him the 
house, and that it made him so furious and des- 
perate that he began to tear about the countr}^ on 
that vicious horse of his, which he bought the 


222 


WARP AND WOOF. 


other day, hoping to break his neck, and he 
came near doing it. It was such a pity, for the 
very day he was thrown, his brother came 
home!” 

“His brother!” all exclaimed in chorus. 

“Yes, his twin-brother. Such a likeness never 
was seen on earth!” she answered, with scarcely 
suppressed delight at having more to tell than 
any other member of the coterie. 

“It’s a thousand pities! It would have been 
so nice and puzzling, you know, to have had 
them visiting round, and people making all sorts 
of blunders by mistaking one for the other.” 
There was a laugh, and many ‘ ‘ oh’s ’ ’ and “ ah’s ” 
mingled with it. 

“Is that all you heard?” said an old world- 
ling, whose face was painted, whose false hair 
was frizzled over her blinking eyes, and whose 
head was so palsied that the feathers in her bon- 
net fluttered and danced as if about to fly away; 
‘ ‘/ have heard who the St. Aignans are. ’ ’ 

“Oh, do, do tell us,” they all cried, stretching 
out their necks. 

“They belong to one of the oldest and richest 
Spanish families in Louisiana, the Del Alayas; at 
least the mother was a Del Alaya, and married a 
De Moret. One of the twins, the one who is 
hurt, who is the younger by a few hours than 
his brother, took his grandmother’s name, De 
St. Aignan, leaving the paternal name to the heir; 
and they are all as rich as Croesus, ’’she announced. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


223 


with an air of triumph, that set her to shaking 
so violently that every one expected to see her 
drop in pieces on the floor, yet no one dared 
notice, or proffer assistance to the superannuated 
old doll. How did she learn this, and that not 
quite the truth, as you see? Who knows? One 
is sometimes inclined think the ‘ ‘ little bird ’ ’ we 
have all heard of, that goes flying round the 
world telling people other people’s secrets, is not 
altogether a myth. The only clew as to how 
she got her information, however, lay in the fact 
that her “tiger” had a brother who was an 
errand boy in the office of one of the surgeons 
who had been called in to attend the case. And 
what a faculty such people have for picking up 
and patching things together, for listening and 
asking questions, as if they knew a great deal 
more than they did, everybody knows! 

“But, oh, dear me! It is perfectly dreadful 
that with nothing to wish for, and nothing 
to do but to enjoy himself, the poor young 
man should have been so suddenly cut off,” 
sighed a spinster of uncertain age, who, dis- 
posed to piety, suddenly remembered it was 
I^ent, and that her remark would savor of fit- 
ness and remind her friends of the uncertainties 
of life. 

“You may well say cut off,” quickly answered 
another, the first chance she had had to put in a 
word, “for he cannot recover; he may die at any 
moment, and they do say that his mother has 


224 


WARP AND WOOR. 


lost her mind. A lady who heard it from the 
doctors told me so. So many dreadfvil things 
are always happening, it’s enough to make one 
tired of life. ’ ’ 

“Who’s tired of life?” cried the old doll, who 
having just shaken herself together again by a 
supreme effort, caught the words. “It’s only 
when people get to be old maids, or when they 
have bad husbands, or are disappointed in love, 
and jilted, that they get tired of life.” Her 
words shot out like the sharp reports of a re- 
volver, every one going true to its aim, as she 
knew they would, right and left. There was a 
momentary silence which would have been 
awakened had it continued a second longer, but 
relief came in the person of Mrs. Col. Raquet, 
one of the last arrivals — it was an industrial 
meeting for the purpose of establishing a hospi- 
tal for invalid pet dogs that had brought them 
together — who, after throwing a nod and smiles 
around the circle, said: “You will excuse me for 
being a little late. I heard last night that that 
delightful Captain Warner was ordered back to 
his regiment, and they do say that General Sher- 
man’s going to made some scatterbrained raid or 
other, and that every soul of them will be cut to 
pieces, horse, foot and dragoons — so I ran in to 
see the Warners, and found them in great dis- 
tress.” 

“I do so wish the horrid war was over, ’ ’ re- 
in arked a young matron, who was dressed in the 


WARP AND WOOF 


225 


height of the fashion. “The Warners need 
never expect to see their son again. It is jnst 
sickening to hear of nothing but killed and 
wounded people; and everything so high-priced 
too. I had to pay a dollar a yard for cotton 
muslin the other day; and as to a velvet dress, I 
never expect to have another. Why can’t they 
let the South go, and be done with it, I say?” 
She wished the war was over that she might in- 
dulge to the ‘ ‘ top of her bent ’ ’ her passion for the 
“purple and fine linen;” she had no higher or 
nobler aspirations, no patriotic sentiments, no 
love of country; she could not help it, and there 
were thousands like her in those days that win- 
nowed the chaff from the wheat, in the great 
war of the rebellion. There was a ripple of 
laughter after her foolish speech. 

A bright-faced, girlish figure appeared in the 
doorway; she was evidently primed with news. 
She smiled and nodded to one and another of the 
canine philanthropists, and took a chair, her 
eyes sparkling, her cheeks glowing and dimpling 
with smiles. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, “I’ve had the most 
delicious adventure! I have just come from the 
Warners, and who do you think I met ? The 
most charming, elegant, delightful man I ever 
saw. ’ ’ 

“Did he drop out of the clouds into that hum- 
drum family?” snapped the old doll. 

“Who is he? Don’t keep us in suspense,” 
8 


226 


WARP AND WOOF. 


urged two or three voices, while all listened 
eagerly. 

“The new German Minister, Count von Eins^ 
del. And oh! he’s not married, he’s a widower; 
I asked Gertrude Warner. And he’s not at all 
old-looking. And his son was there, too, and if 
you were to think from now until dooms-day 
you couldn’t come near guessing who he turns 
out to be! Be quiet and I’ll tell you. You re- 
member the tall, English-looking young man we 
have seen sometimes with Dave Warner, and 
you know how we all laughed and made fun of 
him when we heard his name was Peter Jones, 
and how awkward and all that we thought him, 
and wouldn’t even invite him to our parties 
when we sent cards of invitation to the Warners. 
Well, Peter Jones is no less a personage than 
Baron von Einsdel, only son of the recently- 
appointed Minister Plenipotentiary to Washing- 
ton! It is a fact! And to think none of us 
knew what a prize the Warners had, he kept 
himself so close! Yes! he is a baron! Oh, it 
is too delicious! ” 

“If Peter Jones was slighted, don’t you think 
the Baron will resent it ? ” asked the dowager, 
sharply. 

“Well, how was any one to know that such a 
great, shy, awkward fellow wasn’t Peter Jones 
and nobody else?” 

“That shows the necessity of behaving well 
to every one; well-bred people always do,” was 


WARP AND WOOR. 


227 


tli€ retort; and then the worldly-wise old woman, 
turning to the painted old woman who shook so 
terribly, said, in an undertone: “Now that 
they’ve found out he’s a baron and the son of a 
Foreign Minister, they’ll be breaking their 
necks to pay him court. ’ ’ 

“Yes, indeed!” cried the young lady, over- 
hearing her remark, “I mean to be first in the 
race to win. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ How it sticks to her, ’ ’ was the next sotto- 
voce remark between the two worldly-wise ones; 
“her grandfather made his fortune on the turf;” 
and they both chuckled, but the young lady had 
turned quite away from them, and rattled on : 

“Oh, if I only had Gerty Warner’s chance- 
he’s been there for months! Oh, if people could 
only know which are the ugly ducks that are 
going to turn to swans ! ’ ’ 

“I’ll say for Gerty Warner, although she is a 
bit prudish, I believe she’d only be kinder to an 
ugly duck just because it was ugly and pecked 
at, than to the whitest swan that ever flew. I 
happen to know that Mr. Warner was the only 
one of his family who was in the secret!” spoke 
up Mrs. Col. Raquet. 

“Wouldn’t it be like something out of a 
novel, if it should happen that the disguised 
prince has already fallen in love with the fail 
Griselda?” suggested the spinster, who could 
not tolerate the dashing, blooming young girl 
who had brought in the latest news. 


228 


WARP AND WOOF. 


It was now the hour for adjourning the Hu^ 
mane Canine Society. Nothing had been said 
or even thought of the object of the meeting, 
and they separated after it was announced that 
“Important business would be brought before 
the Board at the next meeting, and a prompt 
attendance was expected.” 

Turn we now to another and sadder scene, 
where in sharp contrast the lights and shadows 
of life appear, where the good and the evil 
struggle for mastery, and where Faith, clinging 
to the cross, prevails. 

It is past midnight. Teonce de Moret is alone 
with his brother, and the silence of the room is 
unbroken by a sound. Since the terrible acci- 
dent, he has never left Eugene’s side, except 
when Madame Zoraya came in to sit with him, 
a prayer on her lips, and her chaplet in her 
hand, under the folds of her dress, both unseen 
by him for whom her soul was in travail; or 
when Max Ashton called to confer with him on 
matters relating to the affairs of his estates in 
Louisiana. A noticeable change had come over 
the suffering man. He had grown more silent 
day by day, and when at intervals his nerves and 
fibres were wrung with agony, and the old bitter 
fury began to belch forth in curses and impre- 
cations, more befitting a fallen angel than a 
human being for whom Christ had suffered and 
died, he would restrain himself with sudden 
effort, and smother the outcry of torture under 


WARP AND WOOP. 229 

his clenched teeth. Was it from pride that he 
was trying to school himself to a stoical indiffer- 
ence, or was it the softening influence of the 
tender, patient love of his mother, to whom he 
had grown very gentle, and upon whose lovely, 
sorrowful face, his eyes, full of a great pity and 
sadness, often rested when hers were lowered 
or averted from him ; or did the forgiving, faith- 
ful affection of his brother, whose life had nearly 
paid the forfeit of his ungovernable temper, 
touch him more than all? It was a blending 
and mingling of all these considerations which 
had wrought the change in his haughty, fiery 
heart, heretofore only swayed by impetuous pas- 
sion; it was not repentance, however. 

Madame Zoraya had been obliged, very re- 
luctantly, to give up her turn to watch with her 
son that night, a blinding headache forcing her 
to seek rest. Her only consolation was in 
keonce’s presence and vigilant care; she was 
quite satisfied that he, and only he, should take 
her place. Eugene was indisposed to talk; he 
had not slept since the fatal accident, except 
when under the influence of strong narcotics, 
and then only in fitful slumbers, from which he 
would start in wild excitement. He would take 
no more sleeping-draughts, nor would he have 
his room darkened. ‘‘Eight! light! Give me 
light while I may see it; the darkness smothers 
me; give me light, mother!” was his cry, and 
from that hour, the moment the sunset glow 


230 WARP AND WOOF. 

faded on the air, the shaded gas-jets in his room 
were lighted. 

Iveonce noticed a great unrest in his brother; 
his quick sighs, the movement of his head from 
side to side, and a lurid flash that at intervals 
gave an almost demoniacal expression to his 
eyes, made him dread one of those unmanage- 
able paroxysms that seized him at times. He 
took up a book whose pages were full of original 
ideas, flashes of wit, and pungent satire, and 
began to read aloud. It was not a book he 
would have selected to read aloud to a man 
in such an extremity as this one’s, but Eugene 
had asked for it, in fact, had read a portion of 
it before he was hurt, and his pearl-handled 
paper-cutter was between the pages where he 
had left off*. After some time, Eeonce ob- 
served that the book neither soothed nor in- 
terested him, and having closed it, he began 
to talk to him in cheerful tones of their pleasant 
days and merry adventures abroad, when life 
was all sunshine to both, smoothing his fore- 
head the while with touches as light and gentle 
as a woman’s; but no response was made. It 
was evident that silence was what the patient 
desired, so E^once ceased speaking, determined 
to await his mood. He leaned his head 
against the cushioned back of the chair and 
closed his eyes. Thought immediately filled 
his mind with teeming fancies which shaped 
themselves into questions relating to the mystery 


WARP AND WOOF. 


231 


of Eugene’s birth — questions that had given him 
no rest at times. Until they were both men 
grown, he thought they were sons of the same 
mother, and he remembered the shock and storm 
of grief that agitated him, when, one day, as- 
sorting some old receipts and other papers for 
his father, he discovered by an old frayed letter 
he found amongst them, that they were not, 
and that there was a mystery about it entirely 
unintelligible to him. Monsieur de Moret was 
not as careful as a man in his position should 
have been about his private papers, for Eugene 
had also made some discovery of the same sort 
about himself, and in the same way, shortly be- 
fore his father’s death; or possibly Monsieur de 
Moret, shrinking from a personal explanation to 
his sons, which would, to say the least of it, 
have proved embarrassing to the haughty old 
man, took this method of making them ac- 
quainted with the fact of their being only step- 
brothers. He knew that when they found out 
the rest of it, he would be beyond their anger 
and reproaches. Eugene had kept silence, de- 
termined to bide his time and trim his sails for 
whatever the near future held, whether of weal 
or woe for him ; but Ueonce had rushed to his 
father, letter in hand, to question him, and im- 
plore him to comfort him by the assurance that 
it was all a mistake, and that Eugene was his 
own brother by blood as well as by affection. 
Sitting there now, he remembered how sternly 


232 


WARP AND WOOF. 


his father interdicted any allusion to the subject 
in the future, and in language wh'ch had im- 
pressed his mind with ideas remote from the 
truth. The old letter had informed him that 
Eugene’s mother was living, and his father ad- 
mitted it. His own mother was dead, and Eu- 
gene was two years older than himself. It must 
have been a secret marriage, prior to his father’s 
union with the heiress of the Del Alayas. If so, 
and Eugene’s mother was still living, the mar- 
riage of his parents was an illegal and unsancti- 
fied one. How long had they been separated ? 
Where was this woman? Had they been di- 
vorced? No. The Church grants no divorces 
with permission to marry, while either of the 
contracting parties lives. He had heard his father 
describe the grand wedding ceremony in the 
cathedral, when he was married to his fair young 
mother. The Church would not have blessed 
such a marriage. There was no power or logic 
or bribe that had won or ever could win her so 
to do, as he very well knew. He could not un- 
derstand it. “ For what sin,” his thoughts had 
always run on, “was Eugene’s mother set aside? 
Had she been faithless to her vows ? It mus*; 
have been so, ’ ’ was the usual winding up of the 
subject; else why the silence and mystery when 
he had sought to find out the truth about the 
degree of relationship between Eugene and him- 
self? He was too loyal to his father’s memory 
to admit the idea that he had been guilty of a 


WARP AND WOOF. 


233 


dishonorable wrong. And he felt sure, after go- 
ing over all pros and cons of the subject, and 
its ever-recurring result, that his father, having 
been wounded in his honor, had suffered, and 
then drawn the veil of silence forever over the 
wrongs and painful events of his early life. And 
now, having seen this woman, whose superb 
beauty was only enhanced and rendered more 
touching by her grief — having noted her dignity, 
her gentleness, and the thousand evidences of a 
pure mind and devout heart, in every word and 
action — his wonder grew, and he felt that if she 
had sinned and was penitent, she was worthy of 
the forgiveness of God and man. Now that he 
knew her, it was impossible to associate her with 
a stain like this. Had she been betrayed, and by 
his father? was the painful question that now 
suggested itself He might never know; the 
dead could not speak, and he could never forget 
himself so far as to ask her to lift the veil of her 
early life for his inspection. 

“Ivdonce!” The voice was low and clear; 
and opening his eyes, he saw that although Eu- 
gene’s face was very pale, every trace of passion 
and excitement had passed out of it, leaving an 
expression of fixed calm and quiet resolve upon 
his countenance. 

“Leonce, I have not told you all that you 
should know. It is cowardly to disturb the 
ashes of the dead; but I must do it in this case, 
lest you hear what I have to say from lips that 


234 


WARP AND WOOIf. 


would blame and reproach my mother when 
mine are silent in death; for, by the inexorable 
logic of human events, it would come to you in 
the near or the distant future. ’ ’ 

“Tell me nothing, Eugene, my brother, that 
will give you pain. Nothing can ever have 
power to turn my heart from you; and your 
mother shall be always a sacred care to me, for 
your sake and for her own. Believe what I say. ’ ’ 
“I do now; but promise nothing until you 
hear what I have to tell you — a sad, bitter tale. ’ ’ 
Then he began, and in low, even tones, told 
his listener the story of his mother’s life, who 
she was, and how, on account of the taint in her 
blood, she had been made to suiBfer the bitterest 
wrong a woman can know; and how, through 
all, she had borne herself up to the present time, 
ending with these words: “It is useless to tell 
you how the base wrong inflicted upon her has 
cursed my life; you already know how worse 
than death the bitterness of such a heritage must 
have proved to one like me. And now, E^once, 
what have you to say? ” 

E^once bowed his head upon his brother’s 
pillow; tears of shame and sorrow flowed from 
his eyes at the recital of wrongs which stained 
his father’s name, and destroyed the filial faith 
of his lifetime — which had basely brought 
wreck and misery on an innocent and defence- 
less wojiian, and shame and dishonor on his own 
offspring — wrongs for which there was no redress 


WARP AND WOOF. 


235 


either in the civil or the social code. He felt 
smitten and humiliated, the integrity of his pure 
manhood revolted against the baseness of it all, 
and he blessed God in his inmost heart that a 
system which had no name or penalty for crimes 
like this was being trodden out in the wine-press 
of God’s wrath. 

“And now, Ivconce” — 

“Now, now my brother, you are nearer and 
dearer than ever, and I will only live, so help 
me God, to make you the best reparation that 
lies in my power, and expiate, if I may, the 
faults of one who can no longer help himself ; ’ ’ 
he said with emotion, as he leaned forward and 
kissed the white, and now silent lips. 

“There must be a God, Teonce. Such love 
as yours, such nobleness of heart, could only be 
inspired by Him,” whispered Eugene, while 
tears — ^strange guests — stole from his eyes. 
“The infidelity which grew out of the bitter- 
ness of my lot, more than my reason — which was 
an expression of revolt and defiance against 
Him, whom I had been once taught to believe 
in and trust, for having so created and con- 
signed me to a life that was cursed and banned 
— is conquered by your forgiving love, for 
through it my lost faith in God and man is re- 
newed. I thank you with that fervor and truth 
that only the dying can feel. This sudden de- 
struction that has come upon me— do not hate 
me, E^once — tas saved me from a crime by 


WARP AND WOOF. 


236 

which 1 meant to avenge my own and my 
mother’s wrongs. I was on the eve of marriage 
with a young lady of high position, of great 
beauty, and of pure Caucasian blood, when, hav- 
ing imparted my engagement to my mother, she 
forbade it, and urged me to break off the mar- 
riage at once. I would not consent. Then she 
told me how it was with her and myself — who 
and what we were. I was roused to a white rage ; 
I thought only of revenge, and before morning 
I had matured my plans. This girl whose affec- 
tions I had won, and who, I thought, I loved, I 
knew would elope with me if I persuaded her; 
but I vowed that the tie that united us should 
be, instead of an honorable marriage, as great a 
mockery as that which had made my mother be- 
lieve she was my father’s true and lawful wife. 
All was on the eve of fulfilment, when some- 
thing — I do not know what — checked my pur- 
pose. Then — you saw, Teonce, how my evil 
designs were forever frustrated. I accept what 
has happened, the sudden going out and annihi- 
lation of strength, manhood, life, as merited by 
my sins. Good God! I thank Thee for having 
spared me this crime, and saved that innocent 
gir from dishonor. T^once, do you still for- 
give?” 

“My poor tempted one! Do not distrust me. 
Remember, you are my brother by a tie nearer 
than that of blood — that of your wrongs. You 
were scourged by the sudden knowledge which 


WARP AND WOOF. 


237 


filled your life with gall and bitterness, and yon 
were swayed by a natnral and human thirst for 
vengeance. You accept the temporal suffering 
due your sin; your heart is open to God, tc pen- 
itence; you willingly sacrifice life itself, thereby 
to atone for all. What more is necessary ? Only 
to seek reconciliation with your Faith, and res- 
toration to the favor of God through the Sacra- 
ment of Penance. Do you remember, that trav- 
eling once through Italy when we were boys, 
we used to get out of the carriage whenever we 
approached a wayside shrine, to kneel before the 
image of the Madonna and say an Ave^ and that 
our father always showed, by his willingness to 
stop, that he approved our simple devotion? Do 
you remember how we both loved the holy 
Virgin-Mother because we were motherless, and 
how, in our boyish troubles, we used always to 
go to her for help?” 

“I remember, Deonce.” 

‘ ‘ And how we promised to serve her all our 
lives, as her children, time and again ? Do you 
remember the beautiful summer day we stopped 
at Perugia, and while straying through the 
quaint, steep streets, we went into a shop and 
bought small silver medals of the Immaculate 
Conception, and took them to the cure to bless 
before we slipped on the blue ribbons by which 
they were hung around our necks ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, I remember.” 

“And how we went into the old cathedral, 


WARP AND WOOF. 


238 

and knelt down before her shrine, and said our 
chaplet, and how, while we were kneeling, there, 
one who had observed us as he passed through 
the cathedral, came and laid his hand upon our 
heads and blessed us as if it were a sign of her 
adoption; and how as we were coming away, the 
old sacristan told us we ought to be proud boys, 
for that he who had blessed us was the good 
Cardinal Pecci, and how proud and happy we 
were ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I remember it all. Mothers are always ten- 
der and forgiving towards their erring children ; 
my own is; and it all comes back to me now, 
I/^once, my brother, with the memory of those 
happy, innocent days when I, indeed, in my very 
heart loved the holy Madonna. Open my shirt- 
front, and see what is there;” said Eugene, whose 
dark eyes had grown soft and and gentle in their 
expression. 

“And you have worn it ever since?” ex- 
claimed Eeonce, as he unbuttoned the fine linen 
front, and saw the old medal of the Immaculate 
Conception, bought so long ago in Perugia, tar- 
nished and rusty, lying upon his breast. 

“Yes, ever since; first for her dear sake, after- 
wards for yours. Many a time I have snatched 
at it to throw it away, for there were moments 
when the sight of it seemed, by some invisible 
power, to check and restrain me; but thoughts 
of those old happier times, and of you, E^once, 
withheld me. ’ ’ 


WARP AND WOOF. 


^39 


“ Dear Eugene, you liave made me very 
happy. To-day — yes, to-day, for it is lear dawn 
— shall I bring one to you who will crown your 
penitence with the grace of holy absolution, and 
prepare you for the great consolation of the 
other Sacraments ? ” 

“ Leonce, it may be too late! ” 

‘‘Not so! not so! Ah, God! would He, now 
that you lie here in the image and likeness of 
His Son, bruised, broken, and sorrowful unto 
death, turn coldly from you? Never! never! 
Human suffering is a prayer, it is adoration; it 
is like the blood and sweat in Gethsemani when 
the cry went up: ^^Not My willy but Thine be 
done. ’ ’ 

“Eeonce, you have saved me,’’ murmured 
Eugene. “Let it be as you say; I will not 
reason about it, or wrestle with myself, lest the 
dread of its being cowardice instead of repent- 
ance deter me. Do what you have to do quickly. 
I hear my mother’s footsteps. Go, meet and 
console her by telling her the hope you have 
that her prayers for me have availed.” 

And when Madame Zoraya heard the glad tid- 
ings, her joy and gratitude were too deep for 
words; grief was forever swallowed up in the 
sweet assurance of answered prayer, in the rescue 
and new birth of a soul now more dear to her 
than ever through suffering. The most exalted 
emotions of maternity were now her own, since 
she was so soon to give back to God the soul eu- 


240 


WARP AND WOOF. 


trusted to her in pain and sorrow, cleansed of its 
earthly stains by repentance and faith. Was 
not this moment worth all the pangs, the humil- 
iations, and the bitterness she had endured ? 
****** 

Mr. Hazelton had the courage to carry out 
the good resolutions he formed on the night of 
his great trial, and his daughter’s escape from 
the peril into which she had so nearly fallen. 
By God’s grace, his repentance, though long de- 
layed, was real, and his return to the practice 
of his religion open, manly, and earnest. ‘ ‘ I 
was sleeping, as it were, the sleep of death, and 
needed a thunder-clap to awake me. Thank God 
that it came in time,” was what echoed, time 
and again, in his mind, when reviewing all that 
had recently occurred. And the change did not 
end here. Mr. Hazelton’ s family ties claimed 
his attention, and, although it came a little awk- 
ward to him at first to take his place as father 
and head of his household, and he made blunders 
now and then, at which Rose-Marie laughed in 
her sleeve, he began to enjoy the realization of 
a more domestic life, and the love and cheerful- 
ness that his children threw around him. 

Breakfast has not yet been served, and will 
not be for a half hour or so, and Mr. Hazelton, 
who went out at an early hour with Rose-Marie, 
has just come in without her. The morning 
New York Herald is spread on the back of a 
chair to dry, he sees that it is full of great capital 


WARP AND WOOF. 24I 

headings, and glancing at the clock he knows 
that he will have time to skim the cream of at 
least the most startling news it contains. In 
another moment he is poring over a brilliantly- 
written and detailed account of the brave Sher- 
man’s march from the mountains to the sea, the 
capture of the rebel strongholds along the route, 
which held the key to the Southern Confederacy ; 
a military achievement which for sagacity and 
boldness of inception, and courageous daring in 
view of the unknown perils they might have to 
encounter on such a march through a hostile 
country, equals the most heroic military move- 
ments recorded in the annals of warfare. It was 
as successful in purpose as in execution, and the 
daring General and his brave troops were being 
crowned with bays amidst the acclaims of a 
grateful people, while the press heralded their 
triumphs. And the great heart of the nation be- 
gan to feel a surcease of its long agony on the 
promise of peace. Mr. Hazleton was so deeply 
absorbed in the exciting details of the affair that 
he did not hear a light footstep tripping over the 
India matting, or know there was any one near 
him, until a pair of small, soft hands were put 
over his eyes, his head drawn backwards, and a 
kiss pressed on his forehead, then a merry ripple 
of laughter, telling him who it was. 

“My gloves are all shabby, and my purse 
empty, papa, so I stole a kiss while you were 
wide awake, that I might win a dozen pairs in- 
8 ^ 


242 


WARP AND WOOF. 


stead of one, which would have been the case 
had you been asleep. And I have such a lot of 
news!” exclaimed Rose-Marie, tossing her hat 
on a chair. 

‘‘It is well for you, lady-bird, that I had just 
got to the end of what I was reading” — 

‘ ‘ About Sherman’s Army?’ ’ she asked quickly. 

“Yes. Complete triumph crowns their march 
from the mountains to the sea,” said Mr. Hazel- 
ton, with emotion. 

“It is the jolliest news I ever heard!” said the 
girl, her face all aglow. 

“But what became of you, after Mass? I 
waited for you on the church porch, but you had 
vanished somehow, and I left. ’ ’ 

“Dear papa, how good you are to me! I 
slipped off with Gerty Warner; she looked across 
as we were leaving the church, and gave me a 
little signal, and I knew there must be some- 
thing up, so I waited in the vestibule for her. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ And what was the important secret, if I may 
ask? — ^but ring the bell first, I must have my 
breakfast and be off.” 

“You dear old papa! Indeed you shall have 
it instantly. Why did you wait?” 

“I don’t care about taking my meals alone 
these days. ’ ’ 

“Since you have discovered what a charming 
and agreeable person your daughter is?” 

“Just so: I lost some time, and happiness too, 
in finding it out, didn’t I, lady-bird?” 


WARP AND WOOF. 


243 


“Of course you did. And so did I, papa. 
But now — oh! dear papa! I thought this morn- 
ing, when we knelt side by side and received 
Holy Communion together, that it was the very 
happiest day the sun had ever shone upon. And 
now we are so well acquainted, dear old sweet- 
heart, that I feel as if I had found a grown-up 
brother at last!” said Rose-Marie, looking radi- 
ant as she took her seat at the head of the table, 
her father taking his at the foot. 

‘ ‘ Come, now for your news, for I shall have to 
run off the moment I swallow my breakfast.” 

“I am to be first bridesmaid,” she said, orac- 
ularly, as she handed him his coffee. She 
always waited on him herself at breakfast, dis- 
pensing with the attendance of a servant, that 
she might, as she informed him, have freedom 
of speech, and an opportunity to lecture him if 
he didn’t keep the household expenses within 
bounds. 

‘ ‘ Bridesmaid ! To whom, pray ? ’ ’ 

“Oh now, papa! I don’t believe you are so 
stupid as all that, and you seeing Uncle Max 
every day!” 

‘ ‘ I haven’ t seen Ashton for a week. He is out 
of town.” 

“That accounts for it, then, for what you two 
don’t hear is not worth listening to. I am to be 
Gerty Warner’s first bridesmaid.” 

“Gerty Warner’s! Bless my heart! who is 
she going to marry } I thought she was more 


244 


WARP AND WOOF. 


inclined to the cloister than to matrimony.” said 
Mr. Hazelton, really surprised. 

“She ought by good rights to be an old maid. 
I am disappointed in Gerty. She has forsworn 
herself. I heard her almost vow one day that if 
she did not marry an American, she’d die an old 
maid; and here she’s going to marry a German 
baron in the face of it — he who was Peter Jones, 
you know, papa!” 

“It will be a brilliant match for Gerty,” re- 
marked Mr. Hazleton. 

“I can’t get over the surprise of two such quiet 
and practically-minded people as Gertrude War- 
ner and Peter Jones falling head-over-ears into 
such a genuine romance,” said Rose-Marie, 
gravely nodding her pretty head. 

“It is a splendid match — ” began Mr. Ha- 
zleton. 

“Bless you, dear papa!” she interrupted; “it 
would have been all the same to Gerty if he had 
been only Peter Jones to the end of the chapter; 
and as she is not worth millions, it is to be sup- 
posed that he chose her for ‘love’s own sake,’ 
and because she’s good and lovely, for she is not 
a beauty any more than himself, you know. ’ ’ 

“I think she is,” said Mr. Hazleton. 

“She’s lovely to me, too; but she’s not what 
they call a tearing beauty, you know.” 

“The Lord forbid she should be anything that 
requires to define,” observed Mr. Hazleton, 
gravely. 


WARP AND WOOF. 


245 

“Beg pardon, dear papa. 1 can’t get rid of 
all my bad habits at once — can you?” 

Mr. Hazel ton burst out laughing: “No,” he 
said, “I admit that. But what else?” 

“I got a letter this morning,” she answered, 
while a delicate bloom suffused her face. 

Mr. Hazelton looked grave again, his thoughts 
instantly recurring, he could not tell why, to 
Eugene de St. Aignan. “Who is your corre- 
spondent?” 

“You know, papa, I made up my mind after 
that dreadful affair, never to keep anything from 
you, but to give you my entire confidence under 
all circumstances” — 

“You’ll find me a safe confidant, lady-bird, as 
well as a sympathetic^ friend,” said Mr. Hazel- 
ton, gently. 

“I know, papa. My letter then is from my 
old playmate, Dave Warner, and he’ll soon be 
home again. He got some splinters blown into 
his right arm in the last fight they had on 
their way to Charleston, and is to be sent home 
on sick leave, by the next steamer. He says he’s 
all right, and wouldn’t come, only the fighting’s 
over, and no prospect of even a skirmish ahead. 
And, papa, now that you and I are so well ac- 
quainted, I think I ought to tell you something. 
Davy Warner loves me — so he says” — 

“And you, lady-bird, what ha've you said to 
him?” asked her father, anxiously. 

“Nothing — yet. I don’t know what I shall 


246 


WARP AND WOOF. 


say to him when he comes; for you know, papa, 
I must win back Davy’s lespect, after all that 
miserable, foolish affair, before I can answer 
him.” 

^‘Dave Warner would never have offered his 
love, had you not already his respect, my daugh- 
ter. Remember that between folly and sin, be- 
tween simple, thoughtless imprudence and crim- 
inality, there’s a wide difference, especially when 
the folly and imprudence — sincerely repented of 
— are more the faults of a neglected training, 
than of a perverse, evil mind, and a deliberate 
intention to do wrong,” said Mr. Warner, in the 
tenderest tones. 

“Thank you, papa,” she said, in a low voice; 
‘ ‘ I hope the lesson I have received will have a 
salutary effect on my whole life. I think it will, 
with our Blessed Rady’s help; for although I can 
do so only a great way off, I mean to try to model 
my life by hers. But there’s one thing that 
troubles me greatly, papa; if I could only be 
sure that I was not the cause of that terrible ac- 
cident” — Her lips quivered, and a look of 
pain came into the fair face. 

‘ ‘ Set your heart at rest, dear child. I meant 
not to have told you something which I learned 
in the strictest confidence from Max Ashton, who 
left it optional with me to speak of it only 
should a necessity arise to do so. Your peace of 
mind is above all other considerations, and to se- 
cure it, and make yon more thankful for youi 


WARP AND WOOF. 


247 


escape, I in three short sentences, tell you 
who and what Eugene de St. Aignan is, and 
what purpose he had in persuading you to elope 
with him. He is an illegitimate son ; he is of 
mixed blood, of negro and white descent; and, 
had he succeeded in his plan to carry you off 
that night, you were to have been the victim of 
a false marriage. He has confessed it, bnt it will 
remain a secret to the world, only his step- 
brother, Max Ashton, and myself being aware 
of the facts. Unless he has imparted his inten- 
tions towards you to his mother — poor lady — she 
will never be pained by hearing of them. It 
was ont of revenge for her wrongs, and all that 
they wronght on himself, that he made up his 
mind to execute the vile plan, which, by the 
mercy of God, was so happily for us all frus- 
trated. ’ ’ 

Rose-Marie’ s face had grown very pale while 
her father spoke; a frightened look came into 
her eyes, like that of a deer when he hears the 
distant outcry of dogs and hunters upon his 
track. She cast down her eyes until their dark, 
silky fringes rested upon her cheeks; a deep 
sense of the perils she had escaped mad^ her 
heart throb and swell almost to bursting; while 
wonder, and above all thankfulness, tempered 
by humility, that words had no power to express, 
were depicted on her countenance. 

“Thank you, dear papa, for telling me what 
you have, ’ ’ was all she said. 


248 


WARP AND WOOF. 


“I am glad it is over, dear child. I would not 
have pained you by speaking, but I could not 
bear the thought that you were unjustly reproach- 
ing yourself for what was, in fact, the result of 
that man’s own unbridled passions. Now we 
will never, never refer again to the matter. 
Your fault was venial, his intentions were evil. 
They say he repents; if so, God forgive him, and 
help us to do the same. Let the whole matter 
be forgotten.” 

“It must be spoken of once more, papa. 
Davy must know, if” — she began: 

“Yes,” he said, understanding her quickly. 

‘ ‘ Davy shall hear it from me, should you decide 
to give him a favorable answer.” 

“He must know it before that. He must be 
perfectly free in this matter. If Davy loves me, 
and is willing to take me with all my faults and 
imperfections, there must be no reserve, no hold- 
ing back of anything, ’ ’ she said, lifting her eyes 
to her father’s, as he stood beside her. 

“It shall be as you say, my brave little girl,” 
said Mr. Hazelton, smoothing the soft waves of 
her shining hair. Then he leaned over, kissed 
her good-bye, and was off. 

Rose-Marie did not move for a little while 
after her father left the room, but sat quite still, 
her hands idlv folded, her eyes full of a sad, 
dewy light, looking as if she were in a dream. 
Whether her reverie was one of retrospective 
thought, or misty air-castles of the future, she 


WARP AND WOOF. 


249 


herself will tell us. A trembling sigh, such as 
.sometimes escapes the lips of a little child who 
has cried itself to sleep, recalled her to herself. 

“Yes, papa is very good,” she said, “but I 
can never forgive myself. And Davy! dear old 
Davy shall have no answer from me, until I am 
sure that I have strength to persevere in my 
good resolves. If he cares for me enough to 
wait, I may tell him then that his is my first and 
only true love. Dear, Blessed Mother of Jesus! 
help me, for I am all unused to curb my will, 
my vanity, my self-love and all the other faults 
of my nature — faults to which I have been blind 
and unconscious until they brought me to the 
verge of ruin. But with thy aid, oh tender and 
and compassionate Mother, I know I shall tri- 
umph.” And Rose-Marie’ s faith gave her the 
sweet assurance that the aid she invoked would 
not be withheld. This salutary train of thought 
was suddenly interrupted by a whizzing sound 
that fanned her ear in passing, and the crashing 
of glass behind her, followed by a whoop from 
Don, who rushed in through the French window, 
where he had been disporting himself with a 
bouncing ball of India-rubber as hard as a stone. 

“Only see, Don!” exclaimed Rose-Marie, 
startled, ‘ ‘ only see what mischief you have done, 
you dreadful child. ’ ’ 

“I did’n mean to,” he said, standing aghast 
and staring at the mirror his ball had shattered; 
“I did’n mean to bweak it, ’deed I did’n, Yosey, 
I des aimed it at 00 head.” 


250 


WARP AND WOOP. 


“You only meant to break my bead, did yon! 
I shall have to lock you up, Don, unless you try 
to be a good boy,” said Rose-Marie, trying not 
to smile, and determined to be patient. 

“I’se dood; Davy said I was. I was des 
tryin’ to take aim, cos I’m a captain.” 

“Don, go right up to mammy and ask her to 
get you ready to go out with me in the carnage. 
But first bring me that ball: there it lies in the 
corner. ’ ’ 

“What 00 want it fur? Gurls don’t play 
ball;” said the urchin, defiantly. 

“No, I know they don’t — neither shall you 
until you’re a better boy. Bring it to me.” 

“Won’t.” 

“You shall not go with me, and mammy shall 
undress you and put you to bed, unless you bring 
it right here, this instant. ’ ’ 

Don gave her a searching glance from under 
his tangled golden hair, to see if she was in 
earnest, and apparently satisfied that she was, he 
reluctantly sidled towards the ball, picked it up, 
and with pouting lips flung it into her lap. 

“Don, your angel is watching you,” she said, 
in grave, quiet tones. 

“Where’s him?” he said, looking quickly 
around; “me don’t see him.” 

“But he’s here, Don, he’s always near, seeing 
all you do, and listening to all you say. He 
never leaves you day or night, and wants you to 
be a good boy, so that some of these days you 
may go with him.” 


WARP AND WOOF. 


251 


“Where to? Curcus?” 

This was too much. Don came out ahead as 
usual, and Rose-Marie felt discouraged at this, 
her first attempt at moral suasion with the little 
outlaw. She kept the ball, however; and when, 
seeing the troubled look in her face, he rushed 
at her, and threw his arms round her neck, 
promising to be “dood,” she took “heart of 
grace,” thinking that perhaps one small seed of 
promise might have fallen into the wild soil of his 
being. She rang for a servant to clear up the 
splintered glass, wrote a note giving directions 
for the broken plate to be replaced by a new one, 
addressed it, gave some orders, requesting the 
servant to attend to everything without delay; 
then ran up stairs to get ready for a drive to the 
romantic scenes around Rock Creek, knowing 
how much the wild flowers, and bright, rushing 
water, would delight Don. 

Rose-Marie Hazelton was in earnest, and did 
persevere in her good resolutions, clearing 
away little by little the weeds that were ever 
ready with rank growth to spring up again 
and again. In time she found that the best 
way to eradicate them was to bring her relig- 
ion into her daily life, instead of leaving it at 
the church door as so many good people do. 
Her- sunny nature grew brighter each step she 
advanced, and her pretty ways, now divested of 
coquetry and affectation, were piquant enough, 
spiced with keen repartee and playful humor; 


252 


WARP AND WOOF. 


but the change did not take place all at once, as 
you may imagine. There were rough places 
made by long habits of self-love and self-will, 
which she often found it difficult to tide over; but 
each effort renewed her strength to overcome, 
and each defeat, instead of disheartening her, 
roused her courage to try again, always finding 
her best help in the divine Sacraments of her 
holy Faith. 

I have anticipated a little just here — for the 
woof is nearly woven, and the shuttle will soon 
cease its busy flights to and fro through the warp 
— thinking, perhaps, that some nature, fashioned 
like Rose-Marie Hazleton’s, and with the same 
surroundings, might gather heart by her example 
and not despond, because perfection, which but 
few reach, seems unattainable, weighed down as 
the soul is by the imperfections of our fallen 
nature. 

Meanwhile quiet preparations for the wedding 
of Baron von Einsdel and Gertrude Warner were 
progressing. Society was indignant when it was 
ascertained that the wedding was not to be a sen- 
sational one. Society felt defrauded of a lawful 
prey, and there were a great many ill-natured 
things said on the occasion. The trousseaic of 
the bride was not placed on public exhibition, 
nor were bids made for costly presents by send- 
ing the wedding-cards out a month in advance 
of the event. It was to be a sacramental mar- 
riage, a thing not understood by Mrs. Grundy 


WARP AND WOOP. 


253 


and her satellites, and they prated of “hum-drum 
doings,” of “ignorance of proper style,” of 
“not knowing what was due to the distinguished 
family of Von Einsdel,” and “believed it was 
simply meanness in the Warners not to give their 
only daughter a magnificent wedding " Rose- 
Marie had her hands full those days, for every 
one was running to her to find out all they could, 
and give vent to their malice in petty, spiteful 
remarks, which she did not hesitate to treat in 
her old, frank, spirited way, very often “hitting 
the nail upon the head” with such directness as 
made them wince and hold their tongues. She 
was trying to be good, but she could not bear to 
hear her best friends abused and ridiculed. 
Those doing this expected and hoped that she 
would repeat to the Warners all the ill-natured 
things they said. Peter John von Einsdel and 
his betrothed were serenely happy, and had many 
a merry laugh with Rose-Marie, who sometimes 
related with great spirit certain battles she had 
fought for them, leaving out what was malicious 
or really offensive, making them only absurd and 
amusing. It was not known, except to the War- 
ners themselves, the Von Einsdels and Hazletons, 
that there was a time when the engagement 
came very near being broken off. The consent 
of Count von Einsdel’ s sovereign was necessary to 
the marriage of one of his noble subjects with a 
foreigner, and the old royal dry-as-dust condi- 
tions and formulas had to be complied with, 


254 


WARP AND WOOF. 


some of which went sorely against Mr. Warner’s 
republican pride; and, had not considerations for 
his daughter’s happiness, his old, tender friend- 
ship for Count von Kinsdel, and his genuine af- 
fection for the young Baron prevailed, he never 
' would have consented to them. 

“I mean no disrespect towards you or your 
government. Von Kinsdel,” said Mr. Warner, the 
day the official letter came to the Minister from 
the Imperial Court, and he had read it with a flush 
on either cheek; “but I must say that it seems 
to me to be the most arrant nonsense conceiv- 
able. It’s your Old World way of doing things; 
but what in the mischief difference does it make 
whether for ten generations any of mine or my 
wife’s ancestors were engaged in trade, or had 
ever been on the stage ? Some of my Scottish 
ancestors, the Seytouns, were doubtless cattle- 
lifters; some of my English ones may have been 
pirates, or outlaws, or traitors; but those are pro- 
fessions, and not trades. I’ve got a musty old 
book at home full of genealogical nonsense 
about the race of De Warre — our original name 
— and the Seytouns down to the American 
branch, who have been grubbers of the soil — 
mostly earning their bread by the sweat of their 
brow — and lawyers, etc. , etc. I tell you what, 
though. Von Kinsdel, I should only feel honored 
had there been a few hard-fisted, honest tradesmen 
among them — men who had left behind them ex- 
amples of virtuous endeavors and noble integ- 


WARP AND WOOF. 


255 


rity, wlio liad fought a brave fight with poverty, 
and triumphed over its stings, even though un- 
crowned by success; I would indeed.” 

“Probably,” said the Minister, with a friendly 
smile; “in fact, I am sure you would; and I’ll be 
frank enough to confess, Warner, that the spirit 
and enlightenment of the times have opened my 
eyes to the uselessness of a great deal of this sort 
of thing, and I believe, if the order of old regu- 
lations could be changed gracefully and without 
bloody revolutions, dt would bring about a better 
state of affairs, and, in the end, elevate the 
people. But the old foundations and pillars of 
empire must not be shaken to pieces by violence, 
which, instead of advancing, retards all wise re- 
forms. I’m heartily glad our young people will 
have no obstacle to their happiness. It would 
have been a great disappointment as well as grief 
to myself, had such been the case, I assure you, 
Warner. ’ ’ Count von Binsdel held out his hand, 
which his friend warmly grasped, a renewed rati- 
fication of the brotherly affection they had felt 
for each other since their early youth. 

“Yes,” said Mr. Warner, laughing, “I am 
glad too. I only wish our young Baron was a 
native-born American, and I can wish the powers 
that be, across the water, no better thing. It is 
the best compliment I can offer them, for I love 
my country, and hold its freedom and institu- 
tions in higher veneration than any thing under 
heaven.” 


WARP AND WOOF. 


256 

It was all settled at last. Mrs. Wariiei 
rather liked the Old World distinctions. She 
was an aristocrat in the grain, so far as claim to 
good descent went, and had her genealogical 
tree “as old as old Adam,” the parchment 
framed and hung in her dressing closet, where 
Captain Dave declared his mother used . to go 
every day to worship her ancestors, Chinese 
fashion. There had been no tradespeople, either, 
on her side of the house, and she was satisfied at 
its being so because the fact secured her daugh- 
ter’s happiness; otherwise, it would have affected 
her neither one way nor the other. But the 
young lovers troubled themselves not in the least 
with such questions, or the tiresome formulas 
attending them. They were full of hope, and 
when the momentous affair was settled, only too 
happy to know that their lives were to be spent 
together, and did not give it another thought. 
Only once did the young Baron remotely refer 
to it afterwards, by giving his betrothed a hint 
that some time in the future he meant to adopt 
her country as his own, to relinquish title and 
honors, to become a private citizen under a 
Government whose constitution and laws were, 
in his estimation, the most liberal and en- 
lightened upon earth. And thus united in faith 
as in affection, their approaching marriage to be 
consecrated by the blessing of the Church, with 
pure minds, and temporal prosperity, what more 
had these two hearts to aspire to? Nothing ex- 


WARP AND WOOF. 


^57 


cept that by their lives they might be able to 
fulfil perfectly the will of God upon earth, which 
they determined with His help to do. 

Captain Warner came home with a wounded 
arm not quite healed, and a brevet for gallantry 
in action. Brevet-Major Warner was his pres- 
ent style, and I may as well add that shortly 
after the return of General Sherman and his 
army, he had him appointed as one of his staff 
officers, with residence in Washington, which 
was to be the permanent headquarters of the 
General of the Army. But the brave fellow met 
with one reverse after his arrival home, which 
he never allowed himself to anticipate. Rose- 
Marie could not be persuaded to revoke her de- 
termination, or say to him what he most wished 
on earth to hear from her lips, that she loyed 
him, until one year should have expired. “I 
am testing myself, Davy, and you must wait 
until I am satisfied of certain things. You will 
thank me for this when you know everything. 
And what is a year? Why, Davy, it will spin 
round almost before you know it. I’m only 
afraid I’m giving myself too little time.” 

“Tell me just one thing, Rose-Marie,” he 
said, looking rather gloomy; “are there two of 
us, that you require so long a time to make up 
your mind as to which you shall favor?” 

“No, Davy, there is only you. Only be pa- 
tient, and trust me to the end,” she answered, 
with a grave, sweet smile. 

9 


258 


WARP AND WOOF. 


“So I will, darling,” he replied; “I have 
always trusted you, but never more than now. 
But may I come as often, and whenever I like?” 

‘ ‘ Come as any other friend would, Davy, not 
otherwise, until the year -is over. And you must 
not in any manner try to persuade me to alter 
my determination, for it will only end in disap- 
pointment if you do.” 

And though far from feeling resigned to that 
which he could not fairly comprehend, and 
which was, as he thought, a most unnecessary 
delay. Captain Warner yielded, if not with the 
best grace in the world, with at least good faith. 

A letter from his factor in New Orleans urging 
his immediate presence, was received one even- 
ing by D^once de Moret, which contained the 
following intelligence: “The octagonal tower of 
the old Del Alaya house had been struck by 
lightning in a recent violent storm, and left a 
complete ruin; and, owing to that, or other 
causes, fissures had opened in the walls of the 
main building, threatening danger, and perhaps 
destruction, to the valuable and costly things 
accumulated there from generation to generation. 
“I was so uneasy, ” wrote the old factor, “that 
I procured the services of the best builder in the 
city to examine the dilapidated building, and it 
is his opinion that the great age of the house, 
and the moisture of the climate, which has been 
acting on it for nearly two centuries, had to- 
gether done the work; the mortar is rotten, he 


WARP AND WOOF. ^59 

says, and no repairs will avail, as it may crumble 
to pieces at any moment. ’ ’ 

It was clear to ly^once that he must not delay 
his departure, if he would secure the treasures 
secreted in the old house. He almost wished 
the dreaded catastrophe had actually happened 
when the tower was struck by lightning — for hoW 
could he leave his brother? He could not bear 
to think of it. He went immediately to see his 
physicians, determined to be governed by their 
opinion of the invalid’s 'condition. Both told 
him that no immediate danger was to be appre- 
hended, and that it would be perfectly safe for 
him to leave him for at least a few weeks. He 
then hurried off to Max Ashton to show him the 
letter, and ask him to accompany him, as he had 
promised to do when the time came. His next 
business was to see Father Powell, by whose 
ministrations Eugene de St. Aignan had been 
happily restored to his long-abandoned Faith, to 
commend the penitent man and his afflicted 
mother to his friendly, as well as his spiritual 
care during his absence — a care which the priest 
most kindly promised to attend to, having al- 
ready become deeply interested in both. Eater 
he went home, and after asking Eugene how he 
felt, told him that he had received a letter that 
evening which demanded his immediate p esence 
in New Orleans. “I shall not allow a single 
unnecessary delay to detain me, be sure of that, 
Eugene. The old house is tumbling to pieces. 


z6o 


WARP AND WOOP. 


and I must see to having all that is most valuable 
removed and stored in a place of safety. When 
I come back I will tell you all about the ‘ treasure- 
trove’ our poor father made such a mystery 
about, a secret which it did not accord with my 
wishes to have you excluded from.” 

“I know it now, dear Ivconce. Go, and get 
back as soon as you can; I want close — close 

by me, when the hour of separation comes. 
Mother, your cares will be doubled; Leonce has 
to go to New Orleans for a little while,” he said 
to Madame Zoraya, who just then entered the 
room. 

“To New Orleans!” she said, giving a little 
start, and fixing her dark, dreamy eyes on his 
face — sad eyes, that were generally veiled by the 
heavy, black-fringed lids: “to the old city — but 
Monsieur de Moret” — so she always called 
him — “may I ask one favor?” 

“Fifty, madame; if I can be of the least service 
to you, command me, and I will spare no pains 
to carry out your wishes. I leave by the early 
morning train for the South.” 

“It is only a letter to the venerable cure of 
St. Agatha’s Church, Monsieur Prevost. He is 
my godfather, and will be able to send me infor- 
mation which I very much desire to have — that 
is, if he lives. ’ ’ 

“I will deliver it in person, madame. I hope, 
with your tender care, to find my brother better 
when I return.” 


WARP AND WOOP. 


261 


“He shall lack nothing that a mother’s love 
can give,” she said, turning her sad eyes on the 
pallid face of her son. ‘ ‘ I will send my letter to 
your room. Monsieur de Moret, by one of the 
servants before ten o’clock.” 

Then she held out her hand to say “good- 
bye,” which Iv^once bent over and reverently 
kissed, said au revoir to Eugene, who he knew 
of old had a superstitious dislike to “good- 
byes, ’ ’ and went up to his room to prepare for 
his journey. The package to Monsieur Prevost, 
the cure of St. Agatha’s, was sent up at the 
hour named by Madame Zoraya, and he had just 
put it into the secret compartment of his trunk, 
with his own private papers and bank-book, 
when a servant tapped at his door to tell him 
that the carriage which he had engaged to con- 
vey himself and baggage to the Arlington Hotel, 
where he intended to spend the night to avoid 
disturbing his brother at the early hour he ex- 
pected to leave, was at the door. Max Ashton 
met him at the depot next morning, and they 
started on their journey southward, by the speed- 
iest route. Max Ashton felt that he was going 
on a somewhat disagreeable errand, yet his every 
sense was on the alert with interest and curios- 
ity to see the ending of the drama of the old 
house, in whose history he and Dave Warner 
had been so strangely mixed up. “It will be 
quite a satisfactory winding up if the old rattle- 
trap should tumble to pieces, in so far as the 


262 


WARP AND WOOF. 


event would appease the manes of its original 
founder, Dom Pedro del Alaya, by the assurance 
it would give that destruction came by the 
changes of time, and the possible extinction of 
his race, before it fell into the possession of stran- 
gers, to be profaned by vulgar feet. ’ ’ 

Meeting with no delays on the route, our two 
travelers arrived at New Orleans in good time. 
Leonce de Moret’s first care was to send a mes- 
senger to notify his factor of his arrival, and re- 
quest his punctual attendance at the old house 
at eight o’clock on the following morning, as it 
was then too late to proceed to business. At the 
hour appointed, Leonce and Max Ashton found 
themselves ascending the rickety steps leading 
up to the ancient portals — now opened wide — 
over which Dom Pedro del Alaya had caused his 
name and coat-of-arms to be carved in stone two 
hundred years before — now, alas! shrouded in 
moss and lichen as in a winding-sheet. The 
factor, his voice tremulous and piping with old 
age, was there to receive and conduct them 
through grounds and house. Oh! what a wil- 
derness of greenery and bloom was there — ^flam- 
ing tropical leaves as if stained and dyed by the 
sunsets that had kissed them; gorgeous tropical 
flowers, gleaming and burnished, and glowing 
with exuberant color; tangles of blossom-laden 
vines, fragrant and luxuriant, climbing, sprawl- 
ing, and tossing over everything. The tower 
was indeed a ruin, the debris choking up th^ 


WARP AND WOOF. 


263 


marble-paved court. The peacock, once as gor- 
geous as Solomon in his glor}^, now robbed of 
his splendid plumage by age and neglect, be- 
draggled and feeble, dozed in the shade. Before 
entering the house, the old factor drew a leather 
string from his bosom, to which was suspended 
a small, thick, brass key. “My master,” he 
said, presenting the key to T^once, “gave this 
into my care when he went to France. ‘A re- 
ward,’ he said — ^but which I do not ask — ‘de- 
pends on your faithful guardianship of that key, 
until the time comes for my son T^once, the 
heir, to receive it.’ I have guarded it, Messire; 
I don’t know to what it belongs, or what it con- 
ceals — that was not my business ; but here it is, 
and I suppose you know what to do with it. ’ ’ 

“Yes, I know; my father told me on his death- 
bed. It keeps the Del Alayas’ treasures. Thank 
you, faithful old friend, for having so guarded 
it,” said I/^once, grasping the old man’s hand. 

“Thanks to the good God!” he exclaimed. 
“I have often wondered what had become of 
them. I was afraid they had been stolen, or 
turned into money, or made away with. Now 
I see what racking thoughts I might have spared 
my old head — now I can die in peace. It’s a 
cruel hurt, Messire, when you grow to have evil 
thoughts about one you have had faith in and 
served. ’ ’ 

They went in. The same gray, ghostly veil 
of dust was over everything, just as Max Ashton 


264 


WARP AND WOOF. 


had seen it years before, only thicker and grayer^ 
and in some places it rippled along the floors 
from the drafts that had crept in through the 
crevices made in the walls. They went into the 
music room to look at a dangerous fissure in the 
north wall, and suddenly encountered old Cha- 
pita as she entered it by an opposite door. She 
had not changed as much as might have been 
expected in all these years, for time does not 
bear upon the pure African race as heavily as 
upon the white; it is only in the intermediate 
mixed race that scrofula in its many terrible 
forms, blood poison and other ills combine with 
time to bring on premature age and decay, and 
extinguish the generations. The old creature’s 
wool was as white as snow, and stood out in a 
high fleece around her black shrivelled face; her 
fingers were like talons, and she bent her head 
forward more than she used to; but her small, 
piercing black eyes were as keen as ever, with 
the same sharp expressive outlook in them, as if 
for something she was always expecting. When 
she saw them standing there, Leonce, Max Ash- 
ton, and the factor, in the broad glare that 
poured in through the open shutters, she stopped 
an instant, shading her eyes with her hand, then 
with an outcry of joy, sprang forward, seized 
Leonce’ s hands, bending over them, feeling 
their length and examining the joints of his 
wrists, and before he could speak or prevent her, 
she had dropped on the floor at his feet, feeling 


WARP AND WOOF. 


265 

them also with her fingers, scanning their shape 
and size, and suddenl}^, as if to make herself 
perfectly sure of something, she snatched his low 
shoe from one of his feet, and through his silk 
stocking found confirmation of her hopes. Yes, 
it was Ivconce! It was Eugene who had the 
great joints at his wrists and on his feet the 
“lark” heels, as the negroes call them, and not 
her nursling! She laid her old white head upon 
them, she wet them with her tears, she kissed 
them, whimpering with joy, as one may some- 
times see a faithful dog do, that has been long 
separated from his master, on his return home. 

“She knows you, Messire,” said the old fac- 
tor. Then he spoke to Chapita in her own dia- 
lect. She rose up, trembling in every limb, her 
old face crinkled with delight. 

“Him! Yes! My lilly Misses’ baby! Yes 
Chapita know him hands! know him feet. Pah! 
no nigger blood dab ! Oh my lilly Missis’ baby- 
boy!” Then she burst into tears, and Eeonce, 
much touched by her faithful love, spoke gently 
and kindly — through the factor — called her 
“Maummy,” and assured her that he would 
take care of her as long as she lived for having 
loved and served his fail young mother with so 
much fidelity. Then she went back to her own 
quarters to brood over her happiness, after she 
was promised that she should see him before he 
left. 

After examining the house, and being fully 


266 


WARP AND WOOF. 


convinced of the dangerous condition of its 
walls, Leonce led the way to the library, and 
requested Max Ashton and the factor to take 
their stand in front of the book shelves that 
lined the wall half way up to the ceiling. The 
top shelf was finished in fine brass carved work, 
and held a bronze bust of Camoens, another of 
Calderon, both laurel-crowned. These shelves 
were uniform with others that the room con- 
tained: there was no difference except they were 
against a deep partition between two arches which 
opened into the music room. Teonce, having 
assigned this post to them, and requesting them 
to keep their eyes fixed upon the compartment, 
left them and hastened down into the cellar. 

He shuddered as he ran down the steps; his 
eye glanced towards a black, crusted stain upon 
the floor, with a sickening thrill ; but he wished 
to bury the memory of it all, and dashed by the 
spot, between the massive stone pillars that sup- 
ported the flooring of the house above, and 
found himself in a long, narrow, and partially 
lighted apartment, one end of which was sepa- 
rated from the rest by strong iron bars. It was 
here that the wine-casks from Spain and Portu- 
gal, from France and Chios, used to be stored by 
the Del Alayas. There they stood yet, ranged 
against the walls, as black as ebony and draped 
with cobwebs, each one numbered, he saw, as 
pushing the cobwebs aside he stooped to exam- 
ine them. There were iron hooks in the wall 


WARP AND WOOF. 


267 

above them, doubtless used in former times to 
hang hampers of foreign fruits and fine Sicilian 
oils on, for, here and there, shreds and tatters of 
straw- work were trailing from them. 

“ No. 5, third one above, ’ ’ said keonce, glancing 
into a small note-book that he took out of his 
breast pocket. “I hope there’s no mistake, but 
here goes ! ’ ’ He sprang upon the cask, scatter- 
ing a congress of black shining cockchafers and 
roaches and centipedes that had congregated 
there, in alarm at the unwonted sounds that had 
broken the long silence of their domain; and 
seizing the third hook above the cask, he gave a 
vigorous pull, but it did not move. Again he 
tried, this time with both hands. It yielded 
with a creak that sounded like a groan; another 
effort, and it slid down until it suddenly stopped 
as if caught by a spring. 

And what did Mr. Ashton and the old factor 
see, standing just above there as l/conce drew 
down the spring in the wine-cellar? They saw 
the compartment of book-shelves, over which 
stood the busts of Camoens and Calderon, sud- 
denly begin to rise, and ascend until the laurel- 
wreathed heads of the poets touched the ceiling, 
revealing to their astonished eyes a massive iron 
door, about five feet square. That was all. 
lyconce now came in, flushed, eager, and wonder- 
ing. 

‘ ‘ This must be the key, ’ ’ he said, “it is the 
one you gave me. How strange it all seems. I 


268 


WARP ANb WOOF. 


will try it, Mr. Ashton, and see if it is the 
‘sesame’ to this case of Aladdin. It fits the 
lock!” 

It did indeed fit the lock, and turned easily; 
the door swung open and there, aranged on 
shelves and in caskets, was the treasure-trove” 
of the house of Del Alaya. Ingots of gold, bars 
of silver, bags of coin of high value, a dinner 
service of gold, and goblets of the same precious 
metal set with jewels; there were jewels, set and 
in rough, diamonds from Peru, opals from 
“Farther Ind,” pearls from the Orient, white, 
rose-colored, and black; and more magnificent 
than all, set apart from the rest, was a chalice, 
paten, cruets, and an ostensorium in massive 
gold, thickly set with gems. These were the 
treasures accumulated by Don Pedro del Alaya, 
and this the receptacle he had had constructed 
for their preservation and concealment. Bach 
heir in turn had seen them, but bound by ter- 
rible conditions, had respected his will and left 
them intact, passing them on from generation to 
generation, until at last, a female, the mother 
of L^once, was the only representative of her 
race, in which case the hard conditions of their 
possession were broken. But she adhered to the 
traditions of her ancestors; she would not suffer 
them to be touched, or the smallest portion of 
ihem . to be removed, and without having the 
slightest wish to see them, left them uncondi- 
tionally to her son, Beonce de Moret. As the 


WARP AND WOOF. 


269 

best a7nende lie could make to the memory of the 
wife, whose heart he had broken, her husband, 
Gabriel de Moret, faithfully adhered to the 
promise he had made her concerning them, and 
guarded the old Del Alaya treasures committed 
to his honor, to the hour of his own death. 

“I had enough without it,” said Deonce, 
dropping into a chair. “Good God! Mr. Ash- 
ton, what shall I do with it all? — that gold dinner- 
set and those gold jewelled goblets, big enough 
for chalices!” 

“I don’t know, Deonce, but as your legal 
adviser I would suggest that an inventory of 
these things be taken, and their removal to a 
place of safety before the house falls and buries 
them;” said Max Ashton, gravely. 

“Mr. Ashton, I almost wish it would; it 
would save me no end of trouble.” 

‘ ‘ And deprive you of the means of doing no 
end of good. ’ ’ 

“I did not think of that,” said Deonce, 
thoughtfully; “you are right. If Father Felix 
will help, we can make the inventory now.” 

“Yes, yes,” answered the old factor, rejuve- 
nated for the time being by the rich feast his 
eyes had enjoyed. “At once. The walls are 
full of strange tickings. I have pen, and ink, 
and in yonder escritoire is paper. Fet’s go to 
work at once, Messires! Then there are some 
strong iron-ribbed cedar chests in the garret, 
which we will bring down to pack them in.” 


2yO WARP AND WOOF. 

“Excellent; let us get to work,” said Mr. 
Ashton. “E^once, begin to hand out your pos- 
sessions, shelf by shelf; then we will see about 
the packing.” 

They set to work with a will, and in about 
three hours their task was accomplished. 
Two cedar chests were packed and locked, 
ready for removal that day. The old factor 
went out and ordered dinner from a restaurant 
a few squares off, to be sent to the two gentle- 
men, who determined to remain there until 
all the arrangements were completed for re- 
moving to a place of safety such things as 
were best worthy of preservation. First among 
these were the portraits of Monsieur and Madame 
de Moret, and everything in her sleeping apart- 
ment as it stood. The painting of the Madonna 
del Spasimo, and many of the finest family- 
pictures, with others by the old masters; statu- 
ary, antiquities in carved furniture made of rare 
old wood, grained and inlaid with pearl, ivory, 
brass, and some even with gold; porcelain, Ven- 
etian glass, brass-work, the library, the fine col- 
lection of bronzes, the family plate, etc., etc., 
were to be carefully packed in cases, and stored 
in one of the empty warehouses belonging to 
the estate, in care of the old factor, Monsieur 
Felix. Everything else was to be sold, and the 
price appropriated to the Catholic Orphan Asy- 
lum. 

At the earliest opportunity, Eeonce sought 


WARP AND WOOF. 


271 

the Cur^ of St. Agatha’s, who was still ^ living, 
and presented Madame Zoraya’s package to him. 
Having, with true French courtesy, asked per- 
mission, he broke the seal and perused the letter 
addressed to him, showing great emotion as he 
did so. ‘ ‘ Poor suffering soul ! ” he said, as he 
finished and refolded it. “Tell her. Monsieur, 
that I shall write. The objects of her constant 
care and affection, the two Tayets, her mother 
and grandmother, are both dead, and I hope at 
rest; they left nothing — but I shall write and 
give the details. She tells me that Cecile — the 
dear, beautiful child — is under her care and well ; 
thanks be to God! May God and His holy 
Mother bless you a thousandfold. Monsieur de 
Moret, for your great kindness to that unfortu- 
nate mother and son. She has told me in her 
letter all that you have been to them. No purer 
woman ever breathed than Zoraya Tayet; she is 
one of those martyrs who win a crown, but no 
palm. I send her and her unfortunate son my 
blessing. In every Mass will I remember them. 
Accept for yourself. Monsieur, my blessing.” 
Most gladly did Teonce kneel at the feet of the 
aged priest, the sanctity of whose character im- 
pressed him deeply, to receive his benediction; 
and when he arose, reverently kissed the trem- 
bling hand that held his when they bade each 
other adieu. 

Max Ashton said, after his return home with 
Leonce: “Thank God it is over and done with, 


272 


WARP AND WOOF. 


SO far as I am concerned. Those two cedar- wood 
chests with their precious contents reached here 
all safe, and are stowed away in the bank vault. 
A pair of sick twins wouldn’t have given me 
half the care and trouble that I endured all the 
way home regarding their safety.” Then he 
told that he had never in all his life spent so un- 
canny a week as the one passed in the old Del 
Alaya house with Leonce de Moret, the last de- 
scendant of his race. Ghostly sounds as of foot- 
steps, and the muffled ticking of numerous 
clocks; rustlings, and low, silent breaths of 
mouldy air like sighs, prevaded the place day 
and night, but more distinctly at night, until he 
almost dreaded to see a white-robed procession 
of disembodied Del Alayas, with sad, reproachful 
faces, drifting out of the shadows, aroused from 
their long sleep in the dust by the desecration of 
their home, and the ruin impending over it. 
Then, when bracing up his courage, wondering 
how Teonce could go on sleeping like a stone- 
breaker, he would cast off his superstitious fears, 
he only made a step from Scylla to Charybdis in 
the almost practical certainty that the sounds he 
heard were not ghostly, but signs of the gradual 
settling of the old Structure for the final catas- 
trophe, and that it might occur at any moment, 
burying himself, Teonce, and Chapita under the 
ruins. Shortly after his .return from New Or- 
leans, Max Ashton settled up his affairs quietly, 
and leaving handsome presents for the two 


WARP AND WOOF. 


273 


brides-elect, and a portion of his fortune to Dave, 
now Major Warner, lie wrote his adieus to his 
relatives, sparing himself and them the pain of a 
personal farewell, as also a tempest of expostula- 
tions and regrets at his action; he embarked for 
England, and entered the novitiate of the Society 
of Jesus at Stoneyhurst, a design he had for 
many years determined to carry into execution. 

Eeonce de Moret applied a portion of his 
immense wealth to the erection of a handsome 
Gothic Church, a votive offering for his brother’s 
conversion, dedicated to the Immaculate Concep- 
tion, which, by permission of the Archbishop 
of Baltimore, he placed in charge of the priests 
of the Congregation of the Holy Redeemer. 
The superb painting of the Madonna del Spas- 
imo was hung above the main altar, and the 
magnificent altar service of gold and precious 
stones found among the secret treasures of Don 
Pedro del Alaya, he also bestowed with only one 
condition — perpetual Masses for the souls of his 
ancestors and parents, and for the members of his 
family who might be living. After lingering in 
great torture for many months, Eugene, his head 
reposing upon the breast of Eeonce, passed away 
in penitence and hope, to the infinite mercy of 
Him who fills up with the merits of His Divine 
Son the unevenness of our weak nature. After 
all was over, Eeonce accompanied Madame Zo- 
raya to her beautiful home in Sicily, where she 
and her sister Cecile live, blessing and blessed. 


274 


WARP AND WOOF. 


through their ministrations to the poor and des- 
titute. Then he wandered away to the Bast to 
spend several years in travel, before he married, 
which he was determined to do after his return 
home, should he be so fortunate as to find a 
woman who combined in her character and at- 
tractions all that he sought. 

At the expiration of the year of probation she 
had assigned herself, Rose-Marie Hazelton, hav- 
ing lost nothing of her brightness, but graver in 
purpose, and more regularly devout in life, felt 
that it would be safe to take Davy’s happiness 
into her keeping. He did not know what her 
answer would be that evening when he called to 
know her decision. He heard low, soft chords 
stealing out under her light, skilful touches, and 
she heard his voice and his footsteps, and obey- 
ing a quick impulse, and to avoid a scene, she 
began to sing the sweet old Scotch song: 

“Down the burn, Davie, love, 

Down the bum, Davie, love, 

Down the bum, Davie, love, 

And I will follow thee.” 

He waited until she finished the sweet echoing 
refrain; then he went to the piano and laid his 
hand upon hers, saying: “Do you mean it, 
Rose-Marie?” 

“Yes, I mean it, Davy.” 

He bent and kissed her, and in this simple 
way they pledged their faith to each other, nor 


WARP AND WOOF. 275 

through the years that followed in their happy 
married life, did they ever regret it. 

Gertrude Warner and Peter Jones — let us call 
him so once more — had been married 5ome 
months before, and had started on a European 
tour from which they hastened home to be pres- 
ent at the ceremony which would unite Davy 
and Rose-Marie. 

“I heard you say once,” said the young 
Baroness Gertrude, laughing, to the bride, after 
the congratulations were all over and Don had 
been taken roaring from the room, his mind 
being impressed with the idea that “ Yosey ” was 
to be carried off to the moon, or some other im- 
possible place, and that he should never see her 
again: “I heard you say that you wouldn’t 
marry an American for all the world. ’ ’ 

“And I heard you say that you’d die an old 
maid before you’d marry a foreigner. She did 
indeed, brother Peter, ’ ’ quickly responded Rose- 
Marie, the old, bright smiles dimpling her face. 

“But, my child,” said Father Powell, who 
had performed the marriage ceremony, and was 
standing near sipping a cup of coffee, ‘ ‘ circum- 
stances alter cases, and God has been very good 
to both of you in so governing affairs that you 
have made Catholic marriages, and have every 
prospect before you of happiness in this world 
and the next. What you both said shows the 
foolishness of rash resolutions.” 

“I like my American best, though!” laughed 
Rose-Marie. 


276 


WARP AND WOOF. 


“And I my foreigner, don’t I?” said thf 
young baroness to her husband, who had been 
an amused listener. 

“I will tell you ten years from now. By that 
time we will know,” he replied, with a fond, 
trusting look in his eyes. 

:i< * ;i« sf; ^ ^ Hs 

The old House of Dom Pedro del Alaya came 
crashing down one midnight, just when people 
began to think it wouldn’t fall, after all that 
had been said and predicted. It fell to ruin 
with a sound like thunder and a reverberation 
that shook the windows of the buildings in that 
quarter of the city as if an earthquake had 
passed; and in the morning there was only a 
heap of ruins where the stately old structure had 
stood. Chapita, who could not be persuaded to 
leave her old quarters in an outbuilding where 
the factor had made her comfortable, was found 
dead on her bed, doubtless frightened to death, 
as her house was uninjured. 



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